Never Too Long
by Loopstagirl
Summary: Nightmares come and go, no matter how many years pass. But escaping them for good is easier said than done. Final instalment in the Never Too... series.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights belong to their respective owners._

 _So, here I am again with another long story. This is the final instalment in the `Never Too...` series. Never Too Late and Never Too Lost should be read first as otherwise this will make no sense. They were written a while ago though, so hopefully my writing has improved since then!_

 _Finally, a huge thank you to Bee who has once again, even after all these stories and countless mistakes, put up with me and beta-d this for me!_

 _I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

Scott sighed, brushing his hair out of his eyes and looking around. They had been out here for hours after a burst dam caused severe flooding along some low-lying land. Despite the authorities trying to get the people to move somewhere safer, the locals had insisted on staying. That stubbornness was why International Rescue had spent the last four hours trying to get people out of their flooded homes before it was too late, while simultaneously patching up the dam.

Gordon had been pushing Thunderbird Four to her limits as he battled against the rising water, hindered further by another downpour of rain. If he was honest, Scott wasn't sure where Virgil was anymore. His brother had been hovering over the scene for most of the rescue, leaving Two on autopilot as often as he could to use the platform to hoist people up. John had offered a continuous commentary as he monitored everything from the sky and Scott had just finished delivering another report to Base. He knew his father would be on the edge of his seat, gradually inching further forward with each report and Brains would be hovering by the man's side, hands wringing together as he heard how his machinery was handling the pressure.

Once the report was complete, Scott slumped over Mobile Control. He was completely drained as he surveyed the scene in front of him. All the people were now accounted for and Virgil answered his previous thought as Thunderbird Two suddenly flew overhead. He was heading upstream and Scott knew it meant that Gordon had also done as much as he could. He didn't envy his younger brother having to spend all of that time squashed in a sub. He knew Gordon wouldn't complain, but he also knew that his brother would be reaching for the pain meds when they got home to ease his back.

Scott hoped Gordon would have the chance before Alan excitedly rang from school having seen or heard something about the rescue. They could never slip under the radar when it came to their youngest brother, but sometimes he called too soon. They needed time for the adrenaline and exhaustion to balance out before dealing with Alan. Scott shook his head fondly. He wished he could say he was the same at that age, but he had been a very different person at sixteen. His sixteenth year had been terrifying and he wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially not his brothers. If speaking to them stopped Alan from worrying, then Scott would take the call every time, regardless of how he felt.

"… _Scott!"_

Scott blinked, staring at Mobile Control as he straightened up. Judging by the exasperation in Virgil's voice, that had not been the first time he had tried to get a response. Scott grimaced and pressed his thumb down on a button.

"Yes?" He tried to sound like he had been paying attention. It wouldn't do any good for the Field Commander of International Rescue to be zoning out while a rescue was still underway!

" _I've landed upstream. Four is on board and Gordon has already crashed out. The kid was asleep as soon as he got out of the sub. I don't think he has ever concentrated for so long. Are we done here?"_

Scott once again went over everything he had reported back to Base. They had successfully managed to get everyone out and Virgil had just confirmed the dam was secure. Scott agreed that they were done and was about to disconnect but Virgil spoke again.

" _How's the leg?"_

"Virg…."

" _Just humour me. Are you okay?"_

"I'm fine." Scott looked down with a grimace at the bandage tied around his leg. One of the families had been particularly stubborn about being rescued, wailing and clinging on to him despite it making the situation more dangerous. One girl in particular had practically sprung at him, causing Scott to slip from where he had been attempting to balance. A jagged piece of metal had sliced into his leg. He still didn't think it warranted the way Virgil had paled and dragged him into Two to be checked out, muttering about infections and dirty water. Luckily for Scott, there was still too much to do and Virgil had been forced to let him carry on, despite the scowl on his face saying otherwise.

" _Which means it is hurting you about eight out of ten right now, am I right?"_

"Virg…"

" _Fine, fine, I'll back off. If…."_

"What?"

" _You let Brains have a look when we get back?"_

"Deal. Now go and get our brother home."

" _F.A.B."_

Scott shook his head fondly as Virgil signed off. He figured that he stood more of a chance at avoiding Brains than he did Virgil. If anyone asked, he would deny that he had agreed to anything. Sometimes, it was easier to humour his brother and let Virgil believe that he had got his own way despite having no intention of doing what he said. Stretching, Scott rolled his neck and went to find the authorities.

Right now, he thought Gordon had it right by already being asleep. A roar of engines told him that Thunderbird Two was heading for home and Scott inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He was never satisfied until they were home, but leaving the rescue zone always put his mind at ease a little.

It took him no time at all to tell the locals that they were finished and it was up to them to secure the area. In the early days of International Rescue, the boys would stay until the very end. But they quickly realised they weren't needed and it was taking up hours, especially when people kept finding them jobs they were more than capable of doing themselves.

Scott groaned as he sank into his seat, safe inside Thunderbird One, knowing everything was packed up and he was ready for home. He flicked on the engines and let the pre-flight checks begin as he lent back in his seat, closing his eyes.

Just as he began to relax, the radio came to life.

" _Still alive?"_

"Virgil ask you to check up on me?" Scott didn't move as he activated the screen and brought his space-bound brother into view. John shrugged apologetically. Scott was instantly back on alert, sitting up so fast that John flinched, despite there being thousands of miles between them.

"What's wrong with your shoulder?" Scott demanded, causing John to look at him in incredulity.

" _I'm supposed to be checking up on you."_

"So there _is_ something wrong?"

John looked as if he was going to argue, but then realised he was cradling his shoulder, massaging it with his thumb. Scott knew that was his old way of alleviating it whenever it began to ache, often without realising he was doing it. As the years passed, it had troubled John less and less, but still it would flare up occasionally.

Scott levelled his stare at his younger brother until John squirmed. It took all of Scott's self-control not to let his smirk be seen, glad that he still had the touch after all of this time.

" _Fine. The heating system went a little crazy last night and you know it always aches in the cold."_

"Didn't the heating do that last week? You need to come home for a bit, man. Let Brains take over up there before the kids get back for vacation."

John made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and Scott grinned. He knew John hated not finishing his rotation, but if being up there was giving him problems, then as Field Commander, Scott couldn't allow him to stay. He needed all of his team focused, even if they weren't on the planet. Not to mention the big brother in him just wanted John home for a bit, hating the idea he was uncomfortable in space and there was nothing Scott could do to help.

During their conversation, the pre-flight checks finished and Scott used that as an excuse to cut John off. John opened his mouth to protest, knowing Scott could take off with his eyes shut, but Scott flicked the switch faster than his brother could speak. He knew that John would no doubt reconnect but he would be too annoyed at Scott's dismissal to remember to check up on him. Scott loved knowing his brothers too well at times like this!

If he was honest, his leg was painful but whatever Virgil had given him earlier was working and Scott wanted nothing more to get home. Even if he admitted to it hurting, there wasn't anything anyone could do until they reached Base anyway, not considering it had been at least fifteen minutes since Virgil had taken off.

It only took five minutes for Scott to catch up with Thunderbird Two. He slowed down, deciding to pace his brother back to Base. It gave him a sense of companionship when he could see Thunderbird Two out of the corner of his eye, especially when Virgil waved.

The radios stayed quiet for the rest of the flight, even from Thunderbird Five. When both his sensors and instincts told him that he was approaching the island, Scott shot off into the horizon, knowing from past experience that both of them trying to land together was pure chaos. It was easier for him to get there first, especially as his engines took longer to cool down anyway.

The landing was smooth and Scott just about had time for a quick shower before Virgil and Gordon made it upstairs. Something told him he didn't need to rush; their grandmother wasn't going to sit there and let the debriefing happen when Virgil was dripping mud. Considering Gordon had crashed as soon as he was on-board, there wouldn't have been the opportunity for Virgil to change on the flight home.

The hot water made him grit his teeth as it ran over his leg, but he felt a lot better by the time he finally got back downstairs. It came as no surprise that Gordon was with their father in the study, but that Virgil was nowhere to be seen. Scott joined them.

They sat and talked companionably until Virgil appeared – clean and in fresh clothes - and then, without a break in the conversation, they slipped into a debriefing. It didn't take long – most of the work had been repetition. John informed them that authorities were already beginning discussions about getting the dam properly looked at. It had been a long and draining rescue, but at the end of the day, they had done their job.

The debriefing smoothly turned back into a general conversation, only interrupted when Scott's stomach reminded the family how long it had been since the boys had eaten. Almost on cue, Kyrano appeared and announced that dinner was ready. Virgil and Gordon hurriedly said goodbye to John as they sped from the room, indicating that Scott was not the only hungry one, but the eldest brother paused. He glanced over to where his father was just reaching out to deactivate the screen.

"Dad?" His words were enough to make Jeff pause, glancing over his shoulder. Scott shrugged. "Okay if I go and get John tomorrow? His shoulder is playing up and it's not the first time it has happened either. The heater is on the fritz and it is causing problems, Brains should really take a look."

" _Scott!"_ John hissed, instantly dropping his hand from where it had been lifting to his shoulder again. Their father turned back just in time to see the movement and he sighed.

"I thought the agreement was that you told me when you were having trouble?"

" _I'm not, I'm fine. Besides, I can fix the heater…"_ It was ironic really. Just as John finished speaking, there came a sparking noise from behind him. Scott watched as his brother turned, swore, then turned back with a grimace. " _Although I apparently no longer have the parts up here to fix it."_

"So can I go?" Scott repeated, knowing it was making him sound like a child wanting to go and play. His father shot him a fond look.

"You can. John, we better go before your grandmother has my hide, but we'll continue this after dinner, understand?" There was no messing with the man when he used that tone of voice and Scott knew he had just landed his brother in hot water for not reporting that his shoulder was giving him grief, John reluctantly confirmed, also knowing that he was in trouble. Scott shot him his best innocent grin as John glared at him, but then his stomach distracted him. His father disconnected and the pair walked through the villa together, a companionable silence falling between them.

Dinner was anything but silent. Gordon's sleep on the flight home meant that while his brothers were exhausted from the rescue, he was bouncing. Eventually, their grandmother threatened him with the washing-up and no pudding unless he calmed down and they were able to eat. The conversation was casual and easy and Scott shared a knowing grin with Virgil when the phone rang just as they finished.

No doubt Alan wanted a full report.

Deciding to let Gordon use up his energy that way, Jeff handed the phone over to his son and Scott made a quick getaway, Virgil on his heels.

"How long until you think Al realises Gordon spent the entire rescue in the sub and only knows our parts from debriefing?" Virgil said, falling into step with him.

Scott laughed, privately agreeing with his brother. Alan only liked hearing about the "exciting" stuff and Scott had a feeling four hours mending a wall from inside a submarine didn't count. He moved through to the lounge, frowning when he realised Virgil was following him.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just making sure you stick by your word of getting Brains to check out your leg. In fact, you should probably do it now if you are taking him up to Five tomorrow. You need to talk to him about that anyway, don't you?"

Scott gaped, staring at Virgil. He had been hoping to get away with it but he should have known that would never happen.

"In fact, you'd want to give him time to pack and tell Fermat he is heading up, so why don't we go and tell him right now?" Virgil grabbed hold of Scott's arm, heading towards the more secluded part of the island, the one place they knew they would find their resident genius.

Scott dug his heels in. "I think I…"

"You don't think period, Scott, so don't try that one. Now, come _on."_

Scott wasn't sure whether he was too surprised to resist or whether Virgil was stronger than he had given his brother credit for, but he was being dragged through the house before he could stop it. He tried to pull back when they reached the infirmary but Virgil pulled harder, marching him through the doors and onto a bed at the same moment Brains appeared. Scott only needed to glance at Virgil's face to know his brother had already contacted Brains and this whole thing had been set up. He scowled, but Virgil's hand on his shoulder stopped him from going anywhere.

"I cleaned and disinfected it at the site, but I'm not sure if it needs a few stitches," Virgil muttered and Brains nodded at Scott to show him the wound. Scott complied and Brains winced and nodded.

"It d-does n-need s-s-stitches. And a s-shot of antibiotics."

"No." Scott's hands had clenched into fists by his sides and there was a scowl on his face. This time, he would not be tricked.

"Scott…"

"No, Virgil. You know why." Virgil stared at him for a moment, but Scott met the gaze steadily. He would not allow a needle near him for something like this.

"Is there anything he can take orally instead?" Virgil eventually muttered and Brains nodded. He bustled around and handed Scott two white tablets, which the pilot immediately dry swallowed while Brains was still fetching water. The man blinked in surprise and put it down again.

"Not f-for the s-s-stitches. I w-won't be able to numb it."

"I'll be fine." Scott moved around to a more comfortable position and lay back. If Virgil had already made contact, then Brains would have everything ready.

Scott didn't watch as Brains got out everything that he would need, instead focusing on Virgil coming to sit on the other side of him. Scott knew why – Virgil was there as a distraction, stopping him from looking.

There were not many things the Field Commander of International Rescue was afraid of, but someone approaching him with a needle made him break out in a cold sweat. Last time it had happened, he had ended up hyperventilating so badly that Virgil had forced an oxygen mask on him. Despite the brothers normally teasing each other about everything and anything, they all knew the reason for Scott's terror and how deeply it ran. Even Alan, who didn't remember, knew it was not something to be mocked.

Brains wiped a few solutions over the leg, helping to numb it a little even if he couldn't do it properly and Scott stubbornly stared at the opposite wall. His hands continued to fist in the sheets and he grunted and flinched as Brains stitched his leg.

Scott was trembling and there was sweat on his brow when Brains finally moved away. The genius instantly left the room, clearly knowing that Scott hated witnesses to his moment of weakness. Virgil simply sat there, watching his brother closely as the pilot regained control of himself and gingerly sat up. There was a fresh bandage around it and he knew it would be as good as new in a couple of days.

"Okay?" Virgil asked casually, clearly meaning the whole thing rather than just the stitches. Scott knew he had a tendency to snap whenever needles were brought up, despite no one calling him out on his fear. He nodded tersely, swinging his legs down from the bed and standing up. Virgil was suddenly by his side before Scott realised he was swaying and the older brother could only smile in gratitude as Virgil helped him keep his balance.

"I think I'm going to turn in," Scott muttered. He was in no mood to be sociable, plus he was genuinely tired. Virgil watched him for a long moment, as if he was weighing up whether Scott was telling the truth or not before he nodded. Scott wanted to tell his brother that he could manage, but before he knew it, Virgil had helped him to his room before bidding him goodnight and slipping off down the hallway. Scott had a feeling the younger man would also be heading for his bed. It had certainly been a long and exhausting day.

It took Scott longer than he was happy with to get into bed as his leg refused to bear his weight. But finally, his head sunk into the pillows and he let out a sigh of satisfaction as the tension seeped from his body. The rescue was done and the day was over. They were all alive. Scott let sleep claim him.

Only to instantly fall into a nightmare.

 _He was back in the rescue zone. He could see Virgil was across the river to him, beckoning him. Scott stepped forward, only to realise someone was behind Virgil. He couldn't see who, it was a faceless menace. But Virgil was struggling against them, being held out over the water while Scott was too far away to do anything about it. Virgil was calling for him, pleading for Scott's help as his attacker held him and forced him further out._

 _Scott tried to run forward, but as he did so, something snapped around his wrist, yanking him to a stop. He tried to fight against the feeling, not being able to see what restrained him. As he clawed at his wrist, the feeling manifested into something physical and solid. He felt cold tendrils of terror eating into him when he realised that it was a thick manacle locked around his wrist. He tried to pull, but the more he did so, the more of the chain became visible. Eventually, a wall formed out of nowhere, a wall he had seen before. He was tied to it._

 _Virgil's yells drew his attention back to his brother and Scott struggled wildly. There was nothing he could do, though, no way of getting free as he watched Virgil slowly being forced closer and closer to the water. Just as Scott yelled out for his brother's attacker to let him go, Virgil was shoved. He didn't stand a chance, plunging straight into the water and not coming up again. Scott screamed and cursed, fighting for all he was worth._

 _Eventually, he looked back at the attacker, fury pounding through him at the same rate as the terror. A needle appeared in the man's hand, visible even from this distance. As Scott watched, frozen by his own fears, the man seemed to become more obvious and a face began to appear. Scott shook violently, part of him realising this was a dream and he needed to wake up, but he couldn't. The figure took a step forward, sneering…_

"NO!"

Scott lurched bolt upright, heaving for breath as he fumbled wildly for his light. The illumination of the room made him blink for a moment before he finally was able to look at the clock. He felt as if he had been asleep for hours, yet it was only an hour later than when he had gone to bed. The dream had filled those moments for all eternity, the feeling of helplessness making it stretch for longer than it actually was.

Scott shakily wiped a hand across his face, trying to control his breathing. It had been a long time since he had had a dream like that, especially one that bad. But in a way, he guessed he should have known it was coming. The exhaustion and tension from the rescue, John's shoulder, his leg and the avoidance of needles… That many signs in one day normally led to something. Scott assumed it was his own tiredness that made it so bad.

Before he had time to do anything else, the door opened. Scott glanced up to see his father, but didn't say anything as the man came into the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. Jeff didn't say anything either and Scott knew he wouldn't until he worked out how panicked Scott was. Talking about it too soon just left Scott an emotional wreck. He was glad it was only ever his father that came in after a nightmare. He had no doubts that his brothers knew about them, but just as they wouldn't say anything about the needles, they wouldn't bring them up unless he did.

Scott didn't know how to talk about them to his siblings.

Eventually, he let out long sigh that signalled to his father that he was ready to talk.

"Who?" the man asked softly. Scott knew he didn't mean who was the threat - that never changed. He meant which brother was being threatened. It normally alternated between Virgil and John, as they were the two who had been most affected by everything that had happened the first time around. Occasionally Gordon was the one in trouble and on very rare occasions, it was Alan.

"Virg," Scott whispered, feeling his father's hand resting comfortingly over his ankle for a moment. He didn't say anything; there was nothing for him to say. Scott knew as well as his father did that it was over and he was safe. Hearing it from someone else didn't stop the images playing out in his mind when he slept. Rational thought didn't come into the equation. His father gave his ankle a squeeze.

"You should try and get some more rest if you are going to collect Johnny tomorrow," he murmured and Scott nodded. He knew there was no way that he could just settle back down and hope for a restful sleep now. But there was nothing else his father could say and with a final squeeze, he stood and left. They both knew there was nothing he could do.

Scott waited a few moments to make sure the man had made it back to his own room before slipping out of bed. He was still shaking, but grabbed a t-shirt and limped down the hallway, pulling it on as he did so. This was much harder when it was John as the victim; his brother either being in space or still awake if he was on the island. At least with Virgil, Scott knew there was no chance of him stirring when Scott slipped through his door. He tipped a load of clothes off Virgil's chair and lowered himself into it, stretching his legs up to rest on the end of his brother's bed.

He only intended to keep watch for an hour or so before returning to his own bed. It was his way of knowing that Virgil was alright, that the nightmare had been nothing more than that. But this time, Scott had underestimated just how tired he was. He had only been in Virgil's room for half an hour at the most before his eyes started closing on their own accord. Before he knew what was happening, he had fallen asleep sitting in the chair.

And this time, there were no memories of Blag's sneering face to plague him while he slept.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for the awesome reaction to this - I'm so glad people are still enjoying this series!_

* * *

When Scott awoke, sunlight was streaming into his eyes, he had a crick in his neck and there was a blanket draped haphazardly over his legs. He smiled. There was only one person on the island who would possess a lime green blanket with fish scattered across it and Scott wondered if Gordon had brought it on the off-chance or if he'd known Scott would be in here. For someone who spent most of the time messing around, Scott knew his little brother could be highly perceptive when it suited him. It wouldn't have surprised Scott if Gordon had known precisely where to find him.

Flinging it off and letting his legs drop to the floor, Scott groaned as all the blood relocated to his legs and pins and needles broke out. He knew falling asleep in a chair was a bad idea. But he also knew that if he had stayed in his own room, there would have been no more rest for him. There never was after a nightmare like that.

Climbing to his feet, Scott cast the bed a fond look.

"Virg?" he called softly, reaching out a hand and resting it on the lump that was his brother. There was no reaction, making Scott laugh softly as he left the room. He would have been shocked if Virgil _had_ stirred; it was far too early for him. There was only one thing that could get Virgil out of bed earlier than he was ready and Scott had no desire for the klaxon to be going off, not when he had promised John that he would go and get him.

Forsaking his normal morning run so he could get into space quicker, Scott headed for the shower. Although he was still limping, his leg felt better than it had the day before and he knew it wouldn't give him any problems. If he was going to be stuck inside a rocket for several hours, however, he wanted to work out the crick in his neck before leaving.

Turning up the temperature in the shower, Scott sighed in relief as the pounding water did its work. He dried and dressed quickly, intent on getting breakfast. But as he walked past the lounge, his mind focused on coffee, he stopped. He blinked and then backtracked his steps, staring into the room he had just passed.

Nothing had happened that morning and there was no way he would sleep through the klaxon going off. But the lounge was in control mode. Scott walked in, glancing around. But he didn't have to look far, as his dad was sitting at the controls, focusing on something. Just as Scott made to question what was going on, Jeff held up a finger, silencing him.

"F.A.B. You are clear to launch, Gordon. See you in a few."

Scott's mouth dropped open as he glanced out of the window. It came as no surprise when the sleek red outline of Thunderbird Three began to rise from its resting place. Despite wanting to know what was going on, Scott found he could only watch as the rocket streaked away from the island and straight into the sky, vanishing from view in a few moments. It wasn't often he got to watch it happen, more often than not acting as co-pilot for either Brains or John depending on which way around the rota was. He had to marvel at the smoothness of the whole thing.

Only then did he truly realise Thunderbird Three had launched without him in it.

"What's going on?"

His father turned to face him, prepared to talk now he didn't have a launch to oversee.

"Gordon was up, Brains was happy for your brother to be co-pilot, John wants to come home and you were still asleep," he said bluntly and Scott stared at him.

"But I'm awake now. They are really that desperate they couldn't have waited the half hour it took me to have breakfast?"

"And then the half hour after that to run through pre-flight checks? Gordon can handle it, Scott. Brains said he was happy, John said the same thing. I had no reason to not let them go."

"But…"

"You didn't get much sleep last night. Stop arguing and enjoy the fact you can actually relax for a few hours before John comes home."

"I like going to get him," Scott mumbled petulantly and his father rolled his eyes, flicking a few buttons to enable the command centre to transform back into their living quarters. He stood, brushing past Scott as he headed towards the kitchen.

Remembering that was where he had been aiming for all along, Scott fell into step with the man. After a few steps, he could tell he was being closely watched. He rolled his eyes, knowing what his father was thinking.

"I did sleep, actually. Virgil's chair might not be very comfortable, but it did the trick."

"How long since you last had one?"

"Dad…"

"Answer the question, Scott."

"Do we have to talk about this?"

"Do we have to talk about how you had been yelling in your sleep before you woke up? Or how Gordon came to get me because he could hear you muttering? Or that I had to watch you trapped in a nightmare, knowing you were the only one who could wake yourself up? Yes, we do. How long has it been?"

Scott sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He knew that tone of voice. It was the only time he couldn't refuse his father. It was different compared to when they had been growing up and their dad had been trying to get them to do their homework. This was a tone of voice underlined by deep concern and a hint of fear. It didn't escape Scott's notice that the tone only worked on him and only happened after he had had a nightmare. He had no choice but to obey.

"The fire in California," he muttered, receiving a nod in response. John had been out in the field and had ended up in the infirmary after a beam weakened under the flames and collapsed on him. Scott had been the one to pull him out - and the one to witness John being torn from him by a faceless figure multiple times that night. Of course, the identity of the attacker in the dream always emerged just before Scott awoke and it was always the same person.

"So why last night, they weren't in more danger than usual, were they?"

Scott sighed, shaking his head and knowing he was going to have to explain.

"John's shoulder was hurting. Brains wanted to give me a shot while he sorted my leg. I was pretty tired after the rescue as it was, guess everything just caught up on me. And I'm _fine."_ Scott added the last part on as his father opened his mouth. It was rare for Scott to have a dream unless one of his brothers had been in direct danger and he knew his father was worried about what it could mean.

"Would you tell me if you weren't?"

Scott started, glancing at his dad again. There was nothing but fond exasperation on the man's face and Scott knew he had just been caught out. It wasn't that he wouldn't tell his father, but that he wouldn't tell anyone.

"I thought as much. Listen, I know you said that you are fine and I believe you…"

"Why do I get the feeling that there is a but in this sentence?"

" _But-,"_

Scott flushed slightly at the look his father gave him.

"If you have another one after the next rescue without some specific happening to trigger it, I want you to take a break."

" _What?_ Dad, c'mon, it's happened once…"

"I nearly lost you once from not paying enough attention to what was going on around me. I'm not losing you again to the same thing."

Scott's annoyance simmered down. How could he be angry when the man was trying to keep him safe – and sane? Although this was supposedly about him, he knew full well his father still got the nightmares occasionally as well.

"The rest of the world needs me, Dad," Scott said softly. Despite understanding where his father was coming from, Scott was not about to back down. He was never one for sitting on the sidelines and watching others do a job that he knew he could be helping with. Nor did he like the idea of his brothers being out there without him, despite trusting that they knew what to do.

"We'll see. Your family needs you more, Scott. Let's just wait and see how the next rescue goes and make a decision from there, okay?"

Scott could only nod curtly, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee. He wanted to argue and fight back, but he knew what that would do: make his father suspicious about how many nightmares Scott had experienced and what he was trying to hide. As far as his father knew, a smooth rescue would alleviate his concerns.

Scott knew that wasn't the truth, though. The bad rescues were the ones that left him calling out in his sleep. Pressing the matter would only let slip that not every nightmare resulted in him screaming. Some were silent, and they were even worse.

Luckily, his lack of response was covered by a startled yelp. Scott knew his brothers and knew Virgil better than anyone. He knew there was nothing wrong with said brother, only that something had taken him by surprise. He only had time to share a look with his father – glad it was one not lined with concern – when Virgil came bursting into the kitchen. It was clear that he had just rolled out of bed as he was wearing a pair of shorts and his hair was sticking up at odd angles.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, brandishing something in front of his father and brother. Scott let out a bark of laughter when he saw the blanket Gordon had covered him with clutched in Virgil's hand. He had forgotten he had pushed it to the floor. Virgil's angry gaze locked onto his big brother.

"Why was Gordon in my room?"

Scott shrugged, grinning innocently. It was bad enough he already had one little brother knowing he'd had a nightmare, he didn't need Virgil to find out as well.

"I would say to ask him, but he's not on the planet."

"He's gone to get John?" Virgil asked and Scott could have kicked himself. If there was one way to get Virgil to notice something, it was a break in Scott's normal routine. He knew his brothers mocked him for it, but there were some things that the Air Force had instilled in him that were hard to shake. Not to mention a strict routine had been the one thing that had got him through his teenage years.

"He needs the practice; you all need hours in each other's 'birds," Jeff cut in and Scott shot his father a smile of thanks. It didn't matter how much Scott hated that his dad was concerned he couldn't cope, he knew he wouldn't say anything to the others unless Scott indicated he wanted them to know.

Virgil nodded and then an alarmed look shot over his face.

"No one is going in my girl!" he yelped, grabbing the entire coffee pot, a mug and racing from the room as fast as he could without spilling it. Scott watched him go with raised eyebrows and an amused look on his face before he lifted his own mug. It was only then he realised that it was empty.

"Hey! Virg!"

Without hesitating, he shot after his brother, ignoring the disbelieving expression on his father's face. The whir of the lift indicated that Virgil had fled to the silos, clearly preparing to take up guard duty over his Thunderbird while their father had the idea of sharing. Scott smirked as he ran: Virgil had never liked sharing his toys when he was a child either. So saying, Scott wasn't sure he was any better and already had a plan in mind about stealing the coffee back before going to work on his own 'bird as a precaution to make sure no one else could get near. Not that they tended to launch the Thunderbirds without a rescue, it wasn't worth the potential security breach. But common sense never seemed to take precedence in a Tracy's head when their possessions were potentially under threat.

It didn't take him long to find Virgil. The ramp to Thunderbird Two was already downand Scott could hear that Virgil had set up his music. He moved in, heading for the control panel. He could see the coffee there, unguarded, and was just about to congratulate himself on a job well done when he heard movement behind him. Virgil reappeared, dressed in overalls this time and eyeing Scott suspiciously. He eventually sighed.

"Fine, one mug," he said reluctantly.

Scott grinned, knowing that was the most he was going to get out of his brother. He poured out the one mug and made to head out again. He would have this one from Virgil, then go back upstairs, knowing Kyrano would have already pulled out another pot from somewhere.

But just as his foot hit the ramp, Virgil's voice called him back.

"Me or John?"

Scott stared at him, realising that Virgil had known all along why there had been the blanket in his room. He grimaced and shrugged.

"You," he mumbled, not able to meet Virgil's gaze. When he glanced up, Virgil nodded softly and offered him a smile.

"Right here and not going anywhere," he replied, his voice equally as soft. Scott managed a smile of his own, raising his mug in a salute and moving away from his brother's 'bird. He did genuinely have work to do on his own craft, but he also wanted time to think.

If he was honest, Scott did more thinking than working once he got to his 'bird. He kept her in top condition; there wasn't a lot to do once he had tweaked a few things. But he didn't intend going back upstairs. He knew his dad was just watching out for him, but that didn't stop him from getting annoyed at being treated as if he didn't know his own limits. He knew he was never one to be honest about how he was feeling, not wanting the others to worry. But he also wasn't a fool. He wouldn't lie if he knew that he wasn't on top of his game and they were called out on a rescue. It wasn't just his pride on the line there, it was potentially his brothers' lives. Scott knew his father would know he wouldn't endanger the others, and that made it all the more irritating.

Still, Scott didn't mind taking refuge in One. He had spent hours choosing the seat when the Thunderbirds were first built, knowing he would be spending a lot of time in it. It meant that, on occasions like this, he was more than happy to curl up and let his hands play with the controls in front of him. He could never sit entirely still, not the way John could, but he didn't have the same need for movement as Gordon.

He only managed to hide – he knew there was no other word for it – for a couple of hours before he heard Thunderbird Three returning. There was no point staying down here now, it would be a clear sign to everyone on the island something was wrong if he didn't go and greet his brother. He left his 'bird, hearing Virgil leaving the silos, but then he hesitated.

The chances were John already knew about the dream. Gordon was incapable of keeping his mouth shut and John might have already guessed. He seemed to know what set Scott off better than their father or even Virgil, and he would have known that Scott being aware that his shoulder was hurting would have been enough for dreams to plague his older brother. If John had pushed Gordon, the redhead wouldn't have stooda chance. John had a way of getting answers. Unless, of course, Gordon or Virgil had offered the information voluntarily.

Sometimes, Scott hated how close their family was. It made keeping secrets impossible.

By the time Scott made it to the lounge, it was already empty. He knew John liked to settle back in as soon as he could when he arrived home, but this was a bit too fast for Scott to be happy with. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment, then realised that he could hear voices. He was shocked to hear them coming from the infirmary and he fled the lounge, racing to join them. He burst through the doors, his gaze running over the rest of his family before he realised that everyone seemed to be okay.

John was sitting on the edge of a bed, feet swinging childishly as he spoke with Virgil. For his part, the artist jumped guiltily when Scott came bursting in and quickly hid something behind his back. Gordon was sitting off to one side, sipping on a drink and talking with their father, although all heads turned Scott's way when he entered.

"Fifteen minutes from touchdown and he already knew we were in here. That has to be a record even for you, Scott," John muttered drily, even though his eyes were sparkling. Scott simply frowned.

"You okay?" With Brains off the island, Virgil was the medic they turned to (or were forced towards) when something was wrong. For them to be in here this soon after landing, the problem had to be with John.

John rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. What's the reason you bullied me into coming home?"

Scott gaped before flushing. If John's shoulder had been bad enough for him not to protest about coming home – Scott knew the arguments his brother could construct if he really wanted to (John hadn't even tried this time) – then it made sense for him to want to take something for the pain. Brains had come up with a drug over the years that loosened the muscles around the scar tissue in John's shoulder until it managed to ease itself. It also explained why Virgil still had a hand behind his back – he had yet to give John the shot and didn't want Scott seeing.

"Couldn't you have waited at least twenty minutes before coming up? We would have been done by then," Virgil muttered, his gaze darting between his two older brothers. He looked as if he didn't know whether he should be getting on with it to ease John's physical discomfort or be forcing Scott out to make sure he didn't see the needle. Gordon, however, took matters into his own hands.

"Hey, Scott?"

Scott should have known. The second he turned around, he should have known it was a bad idea. But it was too late. As soon as he faced his brother, Gordon chucked the rest of the contents of his glass over his brother's face. Glad that it was only water, Scott glared as the younger man shot him a grin and raced from the room.

"You looked a bit warm," Gordon called over his shoulder even as he disappeared from view. Scott didn't see Virgil's swift movement as he took off after Gordon, knowing that he was being played but still not letting it stand. It didn't take him long to catch up with his younger brother and it took even less time until he managed to dump Gordon in the pool, but it was still long enough. As Gordon spluttered to the surface – the grin on his face revealing that he knew whatwas coming but that it was worth it – the rest of the family had come out to join them.

"Gordon, go and get changed before your grandmother sees you've got another flight suit wet."

"It's not my fault, it's Scott's."

"That stopped working when you were about five, Gords." Scott settled himself back on a sun lounger as Gordon hauled himself out of the pool, wincing as his brother flicked water at him in retaliation. Gordon still grinned good-naturedly and hurried inside.

Virgil immediately spread over another lounger, a sketchpad coming out from somewhere and a pencil being pulled from behind his ear. His eyes had a far-away look in them as he gazed out to the horizon before his hand started to move. Scott loved watching Virgil draw, the way that a blank page instantly came to life under his brother's fingers, but this time he turned to face where John had settled on the other side of him. Jeff took one look at his boys, smiled contently and disappeared back inside.

John looked at his watch.

"What time does the kid get out of class?" he asked and Scott mirrored his actions, checking the time himself before grinning.

"About now."

John returned the smile. They both knew where their father had gone. A companionable silence fell over them for a moment before John stretched out with a sigh.

"It's good to feel the sun," he murmured and Scott agreed even as he moved into a more comfortable position himself. While the silos were peaceful, they were also cool. It did feel nice feeling the rays soak into his skin and it provided Scott with another reason as to why he could never take on John's role.

"Dad wants us to have time in each other's craft," Virgil called over, not even glancing at his brothers as he continued to draw. Scott chuckled at the grimace John pulled.

"It was bad enough being in a rocket with Gordon for a few hours, I'm not sure I would have a 'bird left if I left him up there alone for any length of time."

Scott found himself agreeing, but knew that Gordon would not be the only one who wouldn't want to spend time alone on Thunderbird Five. There was a reason why John had volunteered himself as Space Monitor – he was the only one who had the mental ability to deal with it for more than a few hours.

"Besides, it would just be asking for nightmares."

Scott froze at John's casual words before glancing at his brother. The look John gave him in return meant that Scott knew that John was aware he had spent the night in Virgil's room.

"Scott…"

"John, don't." Scott tried to make his words an order, not wanting to talk about it. He knew it came out as a plea though. John knew him too well.

"Don't what, Scott? Don't tell Dad that both Virg and I know that last night wasn't the first one you've had in a while like you claim?"

"What do you do, spy on me?"

"If I have to. If that is what it takes to make sure you aren't about to go out on a rescue while functioning on no sleep."

"How dare you!" Scott didn't realise he had jumped to his feet until John slowly got up himself so that Scott wasn't towering over him. "I think I know what I can and can't deal with."

"Really? Because what I know is that the one thing that makes you close up faster than an air-lock is the dreams. I know you won't tell Dad about them because he would over-react. But we don't, Scott. We can't help you if you don't tell us about them."

Scott stared. He knew that the pair of them had clearly been working up to this conversation for a while considering the fact that Virgil had put down his pad, swung his legs around and was watching his two older brothers intently. He suddenly felt cornered, but only because he knew they had a point. He didn't want help with them though, because talking about it meant admitting that for some reason in the last year, the dreams had been coming back. He thought that he had left them behind years ago, but it seemed his mind had just been playing tricks on him.

"What makes you think you can do anything?"

"Because we're the ones you dream about, Scott," Virgil said quietly, cutting through the tension that was building up. Scott opened his mouth to retaliate, only to freeze as his watch vibrated. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see both John and Virgil also glancing towards their wrists.

"Dad?"

" _Someone wants a word with you three."_

Scott started at the sternness in his father's voice. Instantly, their argument was forgotten about as he shared a look with his two brothers. Judging by the looks on their faces, they didn't know what this was about any more than he did.

"On our way." It wasn't the first time that Scott had spoken for them all and the other two didn't even bat an eyelid at it. Scott led the way, but was aware of his brothers directly behind him. Something told him their conversation wasn't over, just postponed for the time being. He hoped that it gave him time to think of a comeback for his brothers as he was certain the only reason they had sprung it on him in such a way was because they knew that should he have received warning, he would have been able to wriggle out of it. He was their big brother and not the other way around for a reason.

But for now, he simply led the way to his father's office. As soon as he entered, he saw his father's chair turn as the man got up.

"I'll leave you to it then," was all he said before walking out. Despite himself, Scott found that he was sharing a concerned look with his brothers before walking forward. But as soon as he saw his father's monitor, a wide grin split over his face as he sank into the seat, hearing the other two pull around chairs themselves after seeing who it was.

" _What's with the tension? You three look ready to snap."_

"It's nothing," Scott muttered, shooting the other two a look to keep them quiet. He knew if they said anything now, it would get straight back to their father.

"So," Scott settled himself further into the chair, feeling the tension leak away from him now that the topic had been changed. "How's life in the real world, Detective?"

" _Nicole's pregnant again."_

"Matt! That's awesome, congratulations!" The dream and the knowledge that John and Virgil weren't yet done with him was pushed from Scott's mind as he took the chance to catch up with their old friend.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks again for the great reactions, it means a lot!_

* * *

It wasn't often Scott sat back and kept quiet when they spoke with Matt. They had grown close over the years and Matt has always been there, not only for him, but his brothers as well. But this time, the eldest brother slowly pushed the chair back as John and Virgil crowded in. He felt bad for doing it, but knew he needed a moment.

It wasn't that he didn't like catching up with the officer. He loved it! Matt was their link back home despite his promotion meaning he now lived in New York rather than Kansas. But with everything else going on, the last thing Scott needed was another connection to his past. At least Matt also brought back happier memories - the man _had_ been the person to rescue him after all. He had also been the one to help the family settle back to their normal way of living afterwards. Scott would never forget that it had been Matt who was there for John when everything had got too much.

But as happy as some of those memories were, it still transported his mind back to when he was sixteen again. The one time he was trying not to think about right now.

How could he hide the nightmares if the events were playing on his mind during his waking hours as well?

"Scott?"

He wasn't sure whether it was John's voice or Virgil's elbow that brought him back to the conversation and he grinned apologetically.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

" _Are you alright, Scott? You seem a little out of sorts?"_

"I'm fine. Just been a long couple of days." Out of the corner of his eye, Scott could see Virgil opening his mouth. No doubt his little brother was about to inform Matt precisely what was going on. Scott kicked him on the ankle.

When Virgil turned to him, Scott shook his head. He was fully aware that Matt would have seen the interaction, but he didn't care. He would rather have the officer thinking they were acting as children than knowing he was suffering from the nightmares again. He couldn't stand the sympathetic look on the man's face or the knowledge that Matt would tell his father.

" _I saw the rescue on T.V,"_ Matt muttered, lowering his voice as he did so. Both Matt and Nicole knew the family secret, the detective being their agent in that part of America. Jeff hadn't wanted to force Matt to hide something from his wife and it helped having his secretary on board for when they had to use the company as a way of getting parts shipped in. But the couple's five-year-old twins were in the house and they liked to join in the conversation when they heard who was on the other end of the line. Matt had a good reason to drop his voice.

"It wasn't too bad," Scott muttered with a shrug, frowning when John rolled his eyes. Scott realised a second too late he had missed his opening. He could have blamed the rescue for him being tired. Matt had a fond look of exasperation on his face; the man had been trying to give him a reason, an excuse, and Scott had blown it.

Luckily, while still thinking of a way to leave the room and the conversation without appearing rude, the door behind Matt opened and a small figure came running in, climbing onto his father's lap.

" _Ruby took my dragon…"_ a voice whined, and the Tracys exchanged fond grins. Scott found his was more genuine than his brothers' considering Max had just provided the perfect distraction. Max always seemed to lose to his sister, despite them being the same age.

"You know what you have to do?" John said quietly as he leant forward. Scott realised that both he and Virgil had also leant forward, wondering what it was that their brother was about to say.

"Wait until she has gone to bed, then take one of hers –"

" _Thank you, John,"_ Matt said sternly, stopping John from continuing.

Virgil chuckled and Scott only just held back his own laugh as he cuffed John over the head. It was always entertaining to watch Matt switch from their friend into a father.

"You just have to go and ask for it back," Scott said reasonably, then suddenly realised that both John and Virgil were staring at him in incredulity. "What?"

"Let's just say that it is pretty obvious you're the oldest," Virgil muttered, sharing a look with John as they both turned back to the screen. Scott blinked, not really sure what they were talking about. It took a few moments, but he suddenly realised how him asking for something back had a lot more effect than if one of the younger ones had tried it. He grinned, glad he was positioned behind his brothers so they couldn't see his satisfaction.

" _Yeah, thanks guys,"_ Matt muttered with a roll of his eyes, sliding his son off his lap and sending him to find his mother instead.

"Or you could just try that way," Virgil teased. Matt flushed at how he had just passed the problem on, before disappearing from sight as he closed his office door. Scott sat back again, knowing their conversation was about to turn to International Rescue and anything happening in New York that involved them, even if it was just rumours about who they were.

The conversation took up most of the morning and Scott realised he couldn't remember the last time they had spoken to Matt for this long. Normally, they enjoyed watching Matt squirm when the twins were playing up or his three-year-old threw a tantrum. While it was always a good laugh, Scott enjoyed being able to talk properly rather than having to watch what they said in front of the children.

Eventually, it was their grandmother calling them for lunch which made them cut the conversation short with the promise they would be back in touch soon. Scott bit back a groan as he stood up, realising that sitting down for that length of time had stiffened up his leg. He didn't say anything though and purposefully avoided Virgil's gaze as they moved from the room. No doubt the younger man knew how he was feeling and wanted to do something about it.

But to Scott's relief, John didn't flinch as he reached out to turn the monitor off. Scott's leg might have been bothering him, but John's arm had settled down. While pleased, Scott was fully aware it meant he didn't have anyone to distract Virgil for him.

The three brothers moved through the house, meeting Gordon on the way as he came up from the silos and a companionable silence fell between them. Lunch was relaxed and the banter flowed easily, but Scott forced the laughs more and more as the meal went on. He couldn't explain the churning in his stomach until, with a start, he knew what he was feeling.

He was nervous.

It had been years since he had last felt like that, but as soon as he put a name to the feeling, he knew it to be true. He knew his father would be keeping a close eye on him and Scott was determined that nothing was going to happen that would result in him being taken off rescues. A few dreams weren't going to affect his ability to act as Field Commander, but there _was_ a chance that something might happen if he wasn't out there to direct his brothers. He had no idea if he was imagining the looks his father was giving him or whether it was all in his head, but Scott excused himself as fast as he could.

As soon as he was out of the house, Scott headed to the beach. He knew he was being predictable with his hiding place but he was also convinced that no one would follow him out. They knew not to interrupt him when he had gone for a run, and that was the only thing he tended to come down to the beach to do. Unlike Virgil or Gordon, he didn't get any inspiration from being down here; it was just a good place to let out some pent-up energy.

What he hadn't thought about, however, was that John was home.

He had barely been on the beach for more than five minutes when he heard footsteps coming across the sand. Scott glanced over his shoulder and jumped up from where he had been sitting, pretending that he was stretching to begin his run. John came up next to him and sat down on the sand.

"You really think that I'm going to buy you going for a run when you can just about walk?"

For a moment, Scott stared at his brother, a flash of irritation shooting through him at the fact John knew he wasn't running but had refused to think about the reasons why Scott might have come down here. Then Scott shook his head and sat down next to his brother, rolling his eyes as he did so. John had always been able to catch him out, sometimes more than Virgil. Virgil would see through his pretence and let him carry on. John, however, would call him out on it.

"What are you doing out here, Scotty?"

Scott wanted to deny everything running through his mind. It was his job to help his little brothers with their problems, not to burden them with his own. But something told him that John wouldn't budge even an inch until he had the truth out of his brother and Scott wasn't really in the mood to lie.

"Dad's looking for a reason to ground me from rescues," he muttered bitterly, flicking at the sand in irritation as if that could solve his problems.

"Because of the dreams?" John's voice was soft and understanding but Scott glared at him.

"Does everyone know about them?" He thought he had done so well at hiding what had been plaguing him every night, yet he was getting the feeling he had been fooling himself more than his family.

John shrugged. "Dad doesn't know the full extent, but we do. Gordon's a pretty light sleeper, you know. He often calls me when he is awake and no one else is, and it's amazing what that kid can hear through the walls. As for Virg, he might not wake up, but he knows you better than anyone. You really think you can hide it from us?"

"I was hoping to," Scott mumbled, sighing as he stared out at the ocean. He felt he should be annoyed that they all knew, but found that, instead, he wasn't surprised. They had never been able to hide anything serious from each other, so why should now be any different? They could trick their father, but not one another.

"Is Dad right in saying you should stop being out on the field for a while?"

"No!"

John flinched at the note in Scott's voice and the older brother held up his hands apologetically.

"No," he continued in a softer tone. "I need to be out there. The dreams are about losing you. You and Virg. Sometimes even Gordon. Can you imagine how bad they would get if I was stuck at home waiting to hear that something had gone wrong and I wasn't there to help?"

"We can handle ourselves…" John started to protest, but Scott shook his head.

"I know. That's not what I'm saying. I'm supposed to be out there, John. Staying at home won't help, it will just make things worse. But Dad can't know; he can't know how bad things have got!"

"Hell, Scott… I haven't heard you sound that desperate since-"

"John, I appreciate you coming out here after me and all that, but if you finish that sentence, I'm walking off."

John took the hint and snapped his mouth shut, but it just added to Scott's guilt. Why did he feel like he was trying to push away everyone trying to help him?

"I don't know why they have got so bad recently," he admitted, knowing that he had to give John something to work with now that his brother had come all the way out there to help. "It's not like it was playing on my mind or anything like that."

"Maybe you saw something that subconsciously triggered a memory and that has been revealing itself through dreams?"

"Like what?"

John shook his head. "I don't know, Scott. I wish I did, but I don't."

Scott opened his mouth to say something reassuring to his brother. It was ironic – he was trying to make John feel better, who was worried about not helping him more. As soon as the thought registered in his head, he had to laugh. It summed up their family completely.

Before Scott could say anything, his watch vibrated. Considering the way John looked down at his own at the same time, Scott knew what it was. It never came at a good time, but this was possibly the worst timing of it all. He needed more time to think about what was going through his head rather than having to respond to this. John grimaced, clearly thinking the same before standing up and offering his hand to pull Scott to his feet.

They had a rescue.

TBTBTB

"Scott? Scott, wake up! You're having another dream, wake up!"

"Dad, that's clearly not working, let me… OW!"

"Well, what did you expect, Gords? He's having a nightmare and you got too close, of course he is going to punch you."

"You wake him up then, Virgil."

"Fine!"

Scott was vaguely aware of the voices. He had to wake up; he had to calm Gordon down. His brother sounded upset and it was Scott's duty as a big brother to make sure that all problems were solved. But something was keeping him asleep. He knew that _something_ was the terror caused by the images playing out in his mind once again, keeping him trapped rather than escaping to reality. He knew it was just a dream, but it didn't make the images seem any less real, and even now they were lingering in the shadows of his subconscious. He was scared to wake up; what if the images were actually his reality?

The choice, however, was taken from him when he felt something cold and wet splash over his face. Scott coughed, gasping as he forced his eyes to open, only to see Virgil standing over him with an upended glass in his hand and a smug look on his face. He stepped back as soon as he saw that Scott was awake and the oldest brother tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes as he took in the rest of the room.

He had left his balcony doors open when he had gone to bed, still hot from the shower after scrubbing away what felt like years' worth of dirt after a fire in Australia. But the adrenaline had faded and he had crashed, only to be plummeted back into a world that he had been desperately trying to escape. Judging by the cool breeze wafting in and the fact he could see the stars, Scott knew it was probably about the middle of the night.

John was standing with his back to Virgil, but Scott could see enough to know that he was trying to get Gordon to tilt his head as their younger brother pinched a bloody nose. It was only then that Scott realised his fist was stinging and Gordon's words from before returned to him. He was responsible for the blood.

But before he could so much as sit up, let alone leap out of bed in order to make sure that Gordon was alright, a hand rested on his shoulder, keeping him down.

"Easy, Scott. He's okay."

Scott didn't need to look to know it was his father standing over him – no one else would have guessed his train of thought so quickly. He fell back and only then realised he was shaking.

"Who was it?" his dad continued, the same question that he asked after every nightmare. Scott shook his head for a second, but when the question was repeated with a firmer tone to it, he knew that he had to answer.

"Everyone," he whispered, fighting the urge to draw his knees up to his chest and bury his head in them. He had to pretend - for his brothers' sakes - that he was handling it and that he was fine. But as he spared a glance towards his father, he knew any pretence was lost on the man. His eyes had narrowed slightly and if Scott wasn't mistaken, he looked angry. Scott was further convinced when Jeff quietly told everyone else to get out. They seemed to catch the tone and all filed out without protest, although Scott was sure he heard Gordon complaining that he wouldn't have been allowed to throw the water if he had thought of it first.

As soon as they were gone, Scott's gaze found the floor.

"How long as this been going on for, Scott?"

Once again, there was a no-nonsense tone to his father's voice and Scott knew he had been caught out. Considering it was the middle of the night and he had somehow woken the whole house, he knew this one had been the worst to date. He shrugged.

"A couple of months," he muttered softly, not wanting to admit it but knowing he didn't have a choice. He even thought his father might already know. No doubt one of his brothers had said something as they had tried to rouse him.

An explosion of breath made him look up to see his father run his fingers through his hair before sitting down on the end of Scott's bed.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"So you wouldn't look at me with the exact expression you have on your face now! I'm fine, Dad…"

"No, you are not. I meant what I said earlier, Scott: if this continued, I was taking you off rescues…"

"Dad, no!"

"I'm sorry, son. You're off duty from now on."

"Till when?" Scott muttered bitterly, wanting to know his facts before he started arguing. He knew he had plenty of reasons that would make his father change his mind but he hoped if it looked like he had agreed to start with, his dad wouldn't notice that he was being manipulated.

"Until you're cleared again."

"By who?" Scott felt dread coiling in the pit of his stomach at the long look that his father gave him. Something told him that he wouldn't be able to argue his way out of this one; his father had already made up his mind. Scott hated it, it left him feeling trapped knowing that he didn't have a choice.

"I have to go over to the mainland for a few days at the beginning of next week to oversee some business transactions. I want you to come with me and I want you to talk to someone about these dreams."

"No _way!"_ Scott made it off the bed this time, moving across to his window even as he shook his head. But the cool breeze did nothing to calm the mixture of anger and shame he could feel racing through his body. Didn't his father trust that he knew his limits? Didn't he believe that Scott would honestly say something if he thought that it was too dangerous for him to be out in the field? There was no way he would put his brothers' lives at risk and yet he was being pulled off the team as if he was some sort of liability.

"You can't do this." He tried not to sound surly the way his youngest brother did. He knew that would get him nowhere. But betrayal ran through him at his father's announcement. He knew his dad must have beenarranging this long before he knew how frequent the nightmares had become. The ones he did know about had been bad enough for him to take action.

"I can and I have, Scott. This can't keep going on. I'm sorry, but you're coming to the mainland with me, no arguments."

"I'm not a child, Dad," Scott protested, despite knowing that it wouldn't work. The look his father gave him said enough; he wasn't accepting any arguments.

"I know. But you are still my son and I have every intention of stopping these nightmares. It's obvious that there is nothing any of us can do hereand that they are getting worse. I'm sorry, Scott, but my mind is made up. Just one session, that's all I'm asking. Just talk to someone for one hour and we'll take it from there. Okay?"

"Fine." Scott sat down on his bed, but kept his back to his father. The last thing he needed was for his father to see the tears in his eyes. He didn't want to talk to someone, he didn't want to have to drag up memories that - until recently - he had done well at keeping to the back of his mind. He heard his dad take a step forward, clearly intending to comfort him. But then Jeff seemed to remember what Scott had said about not being a child and quietly left instead.

As soon as Scott heard his door shut, he threw his pillow against the wall as hard as he could before standing up and moving to the balcony doors. He rested his hands on the railings and tilted his head up to the sky, taking a deep breath as he tried to control his emotions.

TBTBTB

"How is he?"

The remaining brothers hadn't gone far at all, leaning against the wall in the hall just outside of Scott's room. Gordon's nose had stopped bleeding, but there was the same concern in his eyes that was reflected in his brothers'. Virgil wanted to squirm at the look his father was giving them all and he knew it hadn't gone down well that they had known Scott had been dreaming and not told their father.

"Virgil, pack a bag."

"Why? Where am I going?" Virgil shared a bemused glance with John before turning his attention back to his father. He didn't think he had ever seen the man look so grave.

"I'm taking Scott to the mainland with me the day after tomorrow."

"So why am I packing a bag?"

"You are coming too."

"What? Why? Da-ad…" It had been years since Virgil had used that tone of voice, but he couldn't help it. "You can't take both Scott and me out of action."

"I can and I will. He needs you, Virg. You're the one he sees die the most, I don't think it would do him any good for you to be miles away."

"He dreams about John too."

"John has just come back to Earth, I'm not dragging him into the city straight away, it's not fair. John and Gordon can handle International Rescue for a few days, and if things do get tense, you can both fly back over. Please, Virgil. Scott needs you."

Virgil's arguments died before he uttered them. He had never turned his back on Scott before, not even when it meant sneaking in terrorthrough a hospital to literally save his brother's life. He wasn't about to start now. He sighed and nodded, moving towards his room as he did so.

The fact he was up at this time of night told him just how bad things had become and he shuddered when he thought about the yells of fear coming from Scott while they had been trying to wake him. As soon as he got to his room, however, Virgil realised that there was absolutely no point in packing now – it was the middle of the night and he was never going to remember everything.

Instead, he slipped back down the corridor. The couple of minutes he had been gone had been long enough for the rest of the family to disappear. Judging by the fact he could see a light on downstairs, Virgil was sure that John, and most likely Gordon, had taken refuge in the kitchen. Satisfied that he wouldn't be disturbed, Virgil slipped into Scott's room.

His brother had his back to the door as he stared into the heavens and Virgil had to smile, albeit one tinged with sadness. Whenever any of them had a problem that no one else could deal with, they turned to the stars.

"Scott?" Not wanting to make his brother jump, Virgil spoke softly before moving to stand next to him. He didn't look directly at Scott, wanting to give the man a moment to pull himself together should he need it.

"Yeah?" Judging by the hoarseness to Scott's voice, Virgil knew that he had needed it.

"What are you taking to New York?" Virgil didn't really know what else to say. He knew that he couldn't completely change the conversation - Scott wasn't in the mood for small talk. But Virgil didn't want to dwell on the dreams either. He still had Scott's screams ringing in his ears.

"Why?"

"Trying to figure out what to take myself." Virgil caught Scott's eye as his brother turned to face him, shrugging with a small smile. "Yep, I'm coming too."

"Dad can't do that; he can't leave us offline…"

"John can handle it and Gordon's not too bad himself. Maybe I just want to see the city a bit so decided to tag along?"

"Virg?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a terrible liar."

Virgil grinned as he heard Scott's voice lighten a little. His brother knew full well that Virgil wouldn't have decided to come himself, but that it had been an order. But the fact they were both prepared to look on the bright side of it gave Virgil the hope that they might just make it through the next few days.

And if he was completely honest, some time to go exploring New York with his big brother wouldn't be the worst thing ever either.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you again for the support with this story, it means a lot to me._

* * *

"Boys, will you _please_ hurry up? The plane is leaving in twenty minutes…"

"Dad, chill. The plane isn't leaving until Scott gets on it. He is flying, after all. Well… I guess _you_ could fly, but if Scott isn't there, then it kinda defeats the point of you even going. So I suppose…"

"Gordon?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Shut up."

John smirked as Gordon snapped his mouth shut, the younger brother grinning as well. John could tell that Gordon was finding it highly entertaining that their father's method of getting their brothers to hurry up was to simply treat them like they were children again.

Scott had always been so good at getting the rest of them ready that he never needed to be told to hurry up. Virgil was a different story, especially if he didn't want to go. But this time, his brothers weren't playing for time – they were both talking to Brains.

It had been two days since the decision had been made. John knew that his father would have left the next morning if he thought he could get away with it. But it wasn't that simple. Procedures needed to be put in place for while they were gone. It wasn't because anyone thought that John and Gordon couldn't cope; it was because they were two men down. Scott and Virgil had the most experience, and while John could keep a cool head in a crisis, he wasn't used to running operations from the ground.

Right now, they were checking with Brains that there wasn't a situation brewing. It was one thing getting caught short, it was another entirely leaving with a crisis about to break.

Despite his brothers never wishing harm on anyone (apart from each other), John knew they were disappointed that the world was quiet. It didn't stop an emergency from coming up at the last minute, but right now, there was nothing they could use as an excuse not to go.

John was certain they were dragging their feet now, hoping the klaxon would suddenly go off before they reached the plane. As his father clicked his tongue irritably, John's grin widened. Gordon wandered off, but John stayed curled up in his chair, a book balanced on his lap. He never got the chance on the station: he was always checking for situations to properly relax with a book.

"You know the more you yell, the slower they'll move?" he mused, causing his dad to send him an exasperated look that said that he was being no help at all. The ringing of the phone stopped Jeff saying anything. From halfway down the hallway, Gordon yelled that he would answer it.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay handling things here?" Jeff asked quietly and John was hard pushed not to roll his eyes. He sensed his dad had been trying to get him on his own to ask since the trip was put into motion, not wanting to do it in front of his brothers, but needing to know the answer nevertheless.

"I know you normally handle things from the station," he continued, "and can co-ordinate a rescue from up there, but it's different being out in the field…"

"Dad, I'll be fine," John said firmly. If it wasn't for things getting out of hand so much with Scott, John knew his father would have never taken both Scott and Virgil off the island at the same time. His brothers might have been stalling, but John was certain it wouldn't have taken a lot of convincing for his dad to try and send them alone so that he could stay to keep an eye on things.

"Besides, I've got Gords…"

"That's what worries me."

Although it was a mutter, John still heard and laughed. "I know how to handle Gordon, Dad."

His dad looked alarmed by John's tone and opened his mouth again. John wouldn't have been surprised if he declared the plans had changed and that he was staying after all, but Gordon interrupted, calling through from another room.

"Dad! It's Alan on the phone. Something about it's really not his fault, the room needed work done on it anyway and no one told him that mixing those chemicals had such a reaction!"

John burst out laughing at how pale his father suddenly went as the man hurried from the room. John was certain he heard a mutter about sons being the death of him and he suddenly wondered when his dad had last acted this way; as their father rather than the commander. Things were more peaceful when Alan was at school. For one thing, Gordon had lost his partner and knew his tricks didn't impress the older ones as much as they did Alan. They normally spent most of their time engrossed in their roles with International Rescue when the youngest wasn't home.

Naturally, as soon as Jeff left the room, Scott and Virgil finally turned up. Scott took one look at John's face and groaned.

"What's the kid done this time?"

"Blown something up by the sounds of it. You guys ready?"

John knew he wasn't imagining the tension running through Scott. In fact, he was certain that if Virgil hadn't been going as well, Scott would have stolen the plane and run off somewhere for a few days in order to avoid this whole situation. Virgil shot John a look, one that said he knew what John was thinking and had the same thoughts running through his own mind.

"As I'll ever be," Scott muttered darkly and Virgil nudged him with his shoulder.

"Yes, we are. You would think," he continued conversationally, "that someone with military training wouldn't make such a mess packing. He _claims_ he couldn't find something, but I think Scotty here was hoping he wouldn't have to go if he never finished packing."

"You know the sooner you get on the plane, the sooner Dad will relax?" John murmured, placing his book to one side and standing up.

It was unnerving seeing Scott nervous. This was the Field Commander of International Rescue and the big brother who solved all of their problems. But when Scott had a problem of his own, he reverted back to a time they all tried to forget. He shut down.

Virgil nodded, rolling his eyes. His expression said it all; that it was the same thing that he had been telling Scott all morning. Scott simply made a noise in the back of his throat by way of answer and tried to sit down.

Virgil, however, moved quickly, grabbing his brother's arm and keeping him upright. Again, John could tell this was something they had been doing all morning. He hoped they would hurry up and leave before the arguments started. At least once they were on their way, neither of them could get out of it.

"He won't get back up again if he sits," Virgil muttered and John forced a grin, knowing it didn't meet his eyes.

" _He_ is here," Scott grumbled. John looked from Virgil to Scott and wasn't surprised to find his older brother watching him, clearly reading his expression and understanding this was just as strange for John as it was for him and Virgil.

John wasn't sure that he had ever been on the island for more than a few hours without one or both of them there, and he knew that he was going to feel their absence. He sighed, putting his hand on Scott's shoulder.

"Everything will work out," he said softly, too quietly for even Virgil – standing right next to them – to hear. Scott looked as if he was going to protest, perhaps even claim that he didn't know what John was talking about, but he dropped his gaze at the last moment and nodded. John gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze and stepped back even as their father and Gordon walked into the room.

Jeff's lips were tight and his eyes angry, although Gordon's grin indicated that Alan had indeed blown something up. John bit his lip, hoping Scott wasn't about to offer another protest or reason about why they shouldn't be going. It wouldn't take a lot to send their father over the edge right now.

"Are you ready?" Jeff asked, narrowly avoiding snapping at them. John knew that although his father wanted this to be over with, he knew how much of a big deal this was, especially for Scott. When both accompanying sons nodded, Jeff exhaled, one hand resting on Gordon's shoulder.

"Be good for your brother."

"Dad, I'm not eight."

"Are mentally," Virgil muttered and Gordon responded by poking his tongue out. John rolled his eyes, tugged Gordon away from their father and simply held the younger man in a headlock. He knew if Gordon wanted to, he could get out and have John on the floor in seconds. But Gordon played along, meekly pushing at his brother before falling still.

"I've got this troublemaker. Think you need more luck with those two."

"Hey," Scott protested, and John grinned as his brother sounded more like himself.

Jeff shook his head. "Come on."

After that, it was just a matter of saying goodbye. They all knew it would only be for a few days, but John was fully aware of just what those few days could mean to Scott. It could get rid of the nightmares for good, or it could make everything so much worse.

It was a relief when the plane vanished to just a speck in the sky and they had the island to themselves. The Kyranos were still around, but John knew they were taking this chance to have some time to themselves for a few days, and no doubt their grandmother would be quick to make her presence known if she thought that something was wrong.

But for now, with a lack of an older brother (two for Gordon) and father around, it felt like they had more freedom than normal. Judging by the glint in Gordon's eye, he was thinking exactly the same.

"No," John said, shaking his head and sitting back down. "Whatever it is you are thinking, no. Go swim or something."

"Spoilsport," Gordon teased, but obediently shuffled from the room. John shook his head fondly, making to pick up his book again. At the last second, however, he changed his mind and reached for the television remote. It was something else that he never did up on Five. Technically, he knew Brains had come up with a way to get a signal, but John normally didn't miss it and they hadn't bothered installing the software. Still, it gave him something different to do at home, and the astronaut settled back and began flicking channels.

In only a few moments, John realised why he never missed watching TV. Absolutely nothing drew his attention. Finally, he settled on the news, wondering what was going on in the world. He only heard about catastrophic disasters, not smaller scale fiascos. But he was already aware of the first few stories and he reached out to turn the set off. But then something caught his eye. Turning up the volume, he frowned.

"… _and it has been confirmed that the police are looking for three men, all armed and dangerous after the break out at around 3AM this morning. The public are warned to keep their distance and to call the police immediately if any sighting occurs…"_

The reporter continued on about attempts to bring the men to justice but John wasn't listening, his heart hammering. There was something familiar about the prison being shown in the background, something that sent shivers down his spine.

Quickly turning off the T.V, John hurried up the stairs and switched on his computer. He pulled up more reports about what had happened, confirming that three men had broken out (or _been_ broken out) of prison in the early hours of the morning. The reports weren't giving any details about how it had taken place.

But John couldn't shake the uneasy feeling and it took him no effort at all to begin to hack into the police and prison databases. Just because the public weren't being told what had happened didn't mean that he didn't have ways of finding out!

John soon knew that a smoke bomb had been set off and two masked men had burst in, somehow getting past security. No one knew yet how they had done it, but they had targeted very particular cells and freed the three men inside them before all five had disappeared into the darkness and simply vanished. The alarm had been sounded, but there was no sign of the men.

John winced as he massaged his arm, the old wound aching for no reason at all. He hoped it wouldn't flare up – he didn't want to tell Brains or let his father know. But his hands were uncharacteristically shaking as he moved further into the databases to find out the names of those who had escaped. He felt sick, dread rising in him as he clicked through to the right page.

He hadn't heard of the first of the two men but stored that information for a later date.

The third name made him swear violently.

TBTBTB

Jeff had never been so relieved to get on a plane and see the island disappear behind him. He knew his tension had been noted by his sons, and that he wasn't the only one feeling it. The fact they had got off the island without someone completely losing it was a blessing in itself. It was bad enough having to deal with Scott and Virgil, then to find out that Alan was in trouble as well had pushed him over the edge.

As he settled back into his seat, Jeff wondered what would have happened if he had had at least one daughter...

Scott was flying and Jeff was more than happy to surrender control to his first-born. Both he and Virgil were capable of flying to the mainland, but Scott needed the distraction. Anything that would make the next few days easier was fine by Jeff and he hadn't argued when Virgil announced that he was co-piloting. It gave their father a chance to stretch out in the back and grab some sleep. With Scott so distressed, Jeff had barely slept over the last couple of nights, so he switched off his phone, settled back and shut his eyes.

He didn't realise he had actually fallen asleep until there was a hand on his shoulder gently shaking him awake. He opened his eyes to find Virgil grinning down at him and the main door to the plane open.

"We're here, Dad."

Jeff stood, quickly shaking himself to get the blood flowing, and gestured for Virgil to lead the way. A car was waiting for them as Jeff had requested and he– not for the first time – thanked his secretary under his breath.

There would be no business trips when Nicole left on maternity leave, Jeff decided. He would run everything from home, simply because he wasn't sure that he would be able to get everywhere on time without her. It would be a blessing when she returned to work.

"I'm driving," he stated firmly, seeing the look on both sons' faces when they saw the car. Scott looked as if he was about to argue, but an elbow to the ribs from Virgil settled the matter. At least this time, Jeff had genuine reasons - he had got some rest while they were flying, for one thing. But in reality, it was because he couldn't face them trying to cut through the traffic in order to get to their destination quicker. He trusted his sons with some of the most advanced machinery known to man, yet when it came to sitting patiently in a traffic jam, Jeff balked at the idea.

Luckily, both men backed down and slid into the back, talking quietly as they continued their journey. Jeff was hit with a wave of nostalgia when he looked in the mirror. Apart from the obvious fact that they were men now rather than boys, the image was almost the same as it had been when they were young. He had always been able to count on the elder three to distract themselves during a journey – John with a book and Scott and Virgil with each other.

Although the traffic was bad, it wasn't as terrible as Jeff had been dreading and it didn't take them long to reach the penthouse. He had been reluctant to buy it, not being sure what sort of message it sent to the rest of the world, but when his business trips had become more frequent, he had given in.

Now he was glad that he had, as they often had to travel to the city to meet agents. At least with Brains' state of the art security devices set up in the penthouse, they knew they had somewhere safe to go back to rather than having to risk it in a hotel. It also helped keep their presence in the city secret and they didn't have to deal with the media.

It also meant that on times like this, after a long journey not made for the best of reasons, they had somewhere they could consider a home to crash out in. Jeff left the boys hauling their belongings up the stairs while he parked, but they all arrived at the top floor at the same time.

Unlocking the door, Jeff stepped back to let his sons race in, both trying to claim the room with the best view before Scott – as always – backed down and let Virgil have it. There were three rooms, a living room and a small kitchen up here. Jeff didn't think there had ever been a time when more than three of them had needed to head to the mainland at the same time and they spent most of their time eating out so had no need for anything bigger. It was expensive, but under-stated, the decoration plain and everything about it screaming elegance rather than wealth. Hearing a thud as Scott playfully threw a pillow at Virgil in a pretend sulk over the room, Jeff had to wonder why he had ever thought elegance and his sons in one place would be a good idea.

"You've got an hour to clean up and chill out before dinner," he said, moving into his own room and placing his bag on the bed. For a moment, he just sat, glad that the journey was over and the boys seemed to have cheered up. Thinking about the journey made him think of home and Jeff flinched upon realising that he hadn't yet turned his phone back on. He had a separate one for business that he intended to leave off until they had at least had dinner, but being disconnected from the island didn't feel right. He knew if there was a real emergency, then a message would have come through on one of the watches, but he still felt better knowing that he had contact. It wasn't that he didn't trust John and Gordon, he just knew what the younger could be like when he thought that he had some form of freedom.

But when he turned it on and found several missed calls and voicemails already waiting for him, Jeff felt his heart skip a beat. Hitting a button, he started playing the voicemails, hearing Gordon's voice first.

" _Dad… you've got to call John. He's totally freaking out about something and locked himself in his room. I don't know what, he won't tell me. Just…call him, 'kay, Dad? He's creeping me out. Laters."_

Gordon's message did nothing to calm Jeff, instead having the opposite effect. He had honestly been expecting to hear that they had mimicked Alan and blown something up. But John was a smooth talker and was used to running rescues. He wouldn't freak about something like that, and Gordon wouldn't sound so unnerved. Not waiting to hear the rest of the messages, Jeff immediately called his second-born. He knew not to question Gordon when he sounded like that, and calling the island first would only delay how long it took him to find out what was going on.

It rang only once before John picked up and Jeff knew the cell had already been in John's hand.

"John…"

" _Are you alone, Dad? Are Virg and, more importantly, Scott, out of earshot?"_

"John, what's going on? Gordon's called me, said something about you not talking to him and totally freaking out about something? You know you're scaring your brother, don't you?"

John sighed on the other end of the line and Jeff could picture the way he would have run his hand over his face as he tried to collect himself.

" _I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare the kid, it's just… Can Scott hear you?"_

"No, he's in the other room." Knowing that John wouldn't fool around with something like this, Jeff got up and walked across the room. Both Scott and Virgil had disappeared, yet Jeff could hear the sound of a shower running. Satisfied they were out of earshot, Jeff shut the door and made it back to the bed.

"Johnny, what is it?"

" _I take it you haven't seen the news?"_

"You saw what this morning was like, when would I have had time to do that? Just tell me what is going on."

" _There's been a break out from Leavenworth."_

Jeff felt as if the temperature of the room had just dropped by several degrees and his throat went dry. John had fallen silent, as if he knew the impact his words were going to have.

"John, are you saying..?"

" _He's out, Dad. Blag's out."_

John was continuing to speak, but all Jeff could hear were those words running through his head. Blag was out. The man who had torn their family apart, the reason why they were in New York in the first place, was once again at large.

"… _Dad?"_

Realising that John was waiting for him to say something, Jeff swallowed. He could tell by John's voice that Gordon's assessment was true; he was freaking out. He also sounded closer to tears than Jeff had heard him for years and the father knew that was the first thing he had to sort out. He had let John down before; he had no intention of ever doing it again.

"It's going to be okay, Johnny. The whole state, the whole damn country is going to be looking for him; he'll be caught before the day is over." Jeff knew that his words sounded fake, and he knew that his son wouldn't be fooled by them. But he could hear John clearing his throat in the background and knew that his attempts to try and reassure his son had been appreciated.

" _What do we do?"_

"We don't let Scott find out for one thing," Jeff muttered. He was glad that John had clearly thought of that from the beginning and that was why he had been phoning his father rather than using the technology that International Rescue had at its disposal. But he knew what Scott was like. His son wouldn't even consider talking to someone if he knew Blag was out, he would simply close back up again.

" _Are you coming home?"_

Jeff fell back on the bed, thinking hard. He would skip the business meeting in the blink of an eye if he thought it was the best thing for Scott. But his son had clearly spent a long time bottling up how much things were still affecting him, and Jeff knew that if they ran back to the island now, Scott would never open up. How bad would things get if that was the case? Would he ever truly get his son back, or would Scott simply drive himself mad over worrying? Scott would say he could handle things, but considering the fact that they were here in the first place meant Jeff knew that wasn't true.

The memory of what happened still tormented Scott. Jeff was not going to let anything else touch his son.

"No. Scott still needs to speak to someone."

" _Are you going to tell him?"_

"When the time is right. I need to clear up a few things first. John, you need to tell Gordon."

" _No way. He doesn't need that…"_

"And you think that he needs seeing his big brother freak out? I don't know how much he remembers, but _you_ need him. Even if he doesn't remember, he can be there for you. And if he does remember, then he has a right to know before he watches it on the news, pieces it together and realises you hid it from him."

" _So what about Scott and Virg? They'll find out."_

"I'll try and tell Virgil before Scott, I need to have him there to help with his brother and he won't be able to do that if the shock hits him at the same time. But we've got a fairly busy evening - there are some upgrades to do to the security system so I can keep them in without having to make excuses. I'll tell them, when the time is right."

There was silence on the other end of the line and Jeff knew that John was thinking through everything that he had just been told before he quietly agreed. He needed John to agree, needed someone to tell him that he was doing the right thing. Eventually, his son did just that.

"Oh, and John? Make sure you look after yourself, okay? People will be looking for him, it's going to be okay. I would just rather not come back to find a destroyed island." John's weak laugh gave Jeff the confidence he needed to know that they could get through this.

" _That was once, Dad, and doesn't count."_ John tended to like experimenting when he was stressed, sometimes with catastrophic results. But it was good to hear him sound more like himself and Jeff smiled faintly.

"Go and sort out Gords, son."

" _F.A.B. And Dad? Good luck."_

John hung up and Jeff stared at the phone as if he had never seen it before. He had brought Scott out here in order to help him put the events of so long ago behind him for good. How could this have happened? And how could it have happened now, just when they had arrived in New York? His heart was telling him to get the boys back to safety and back to the island as fast as possible, but his head stopped him. Blag didn't know they were here, and he would be a fool to try and come to New York with so many people looking for him. Running now could potentially lose Scott for good and Jeff was not going to let that happen.

With a sigh, he dialled another number. It also was picked up quickly and Jeff had a feeling the person on the other end had been expecting this call just as much as John had been. Outside of the family, he was one of the only ones who would understand quite what this news meant to the Tracys, especially the elder ones.

"Matt? You've heard..?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry it has taken a while to get this updated. There is no guarantee the next will be any quicker - real life has well and truly got in the way - but it will always be coming!_

 _I hope you enjoy this next chapter!_

* * *

Jeff sat quietly as he watched his sons eat. Wires surrounded them from where they had been tweaking the security system.

Although they'd had reservations at one of the nearby restaurants, Jeff was in no mood to leave the apartment. He was trying to build up the courage to tell the boys about Blag, but every time he looked at their faces, he swallowed his words. For the first time in days, Scott looked relaxed - as if he wasn't about to snap at anyone who dared to breathe too loudly.

Jeff was fully aware that once he opened his mouth, that relaxed look would vanish.

It wasn't just Scott. The oldest brother was the one suffering from the nightmares now, but Virgil had taken years to get over them initially. This would dig up old fears for both of his boys and Jeff wasn't ready to see their faces when they learnt the truth.

Jeff knew that he had to say something - he had to warn them – but first he wanted to have time with his sons without the shadow of the past (and future) hanging over them.

Matt had reassured him that the whole police department were on high alert, keeping watch over the streets of New York in case there was any sign. Not that they expected there to be, however. Blag had no reason to risk the city, not when he didn't know the Tracys were there. Considering Jeff had no intention of letting the boys leave that evening, they were perfectly safe. He might have pressed them to hurry up installing the upgrades to the security system, but other than that, Jeff forced himself to relax.

This evening, he would just be with his boys. In the morning, he would change their worlds.

Both Scott and Virgil had looked surprised when their father announced they were ordering take-out instead of heading out, but Jeff had lied and said that he was tired. It had taken all of his control not to flinch under the look Virgil gave him, knowing he had just concerned his son by admitting that he wasn't feeling one hundred percent.

But Jeff knew that he would take any examination his son wanted to give him if it meant keeping them safe. Not to mention, they didn't get the chance for a Chinese often on the island, especially as his mother generally insisted on them eating healthy meals considering they needed to be fit for duty at all times. Jeff had only to pull out some menus and he had watched their eyes light up, knowing there would be no further protests.

"Wonder if John has killed Gords yet?" Virgil mused, sprawling across the floor as he lazily reached for a prawn cracker. Scott looked down at him, eyebrows raised in amusement, but it didn't escape Jeff's notice that he nudged the packet slightly closer to his brother so that Virgil's searching fingers could reach.

"Are you kidding? They'll probably have completely taken over the island! I swear those two together are worse than the kids, and that includes Gordon and Alan dragging poor Fermat into the mix. Don't underestimate John."

"I won't… I have bad memories of underestimating him. Pass me the noodles, would you?"

"How about you get off your lazy ass and get them yourself?"

"But you're closer..." Virgil whined, trying to stretch for them but ending up lying across the floor.

"Virgil, sit up," Jeff scolded lightly, even though his eyes were sparkling. "You can't possibly eat like that."

"I can," Virgil protested, shooting his father a hurt look as if Jeff was doubting his ability. His father responded by rolling his eyes and pulling the noodles out of both sons' reach with a pointed look. Virgil huffed but sat up and Jeff slid them back. The light bantering continued as they finished off, and just like always, Jeff marvelled at how much his sons could eat. But as their conversation turned to International Rescue and more serious matters, Jeff sighed, his light-hearted mood fading away.

Eventually, he made an excuse and stood up. Leaving the boys where they were, he slipped out onto the small balcony that overlooked the city. Despite the constant rush of traffic and lights below him, Jeff didn't notice. He couldn't appreciate the sights when his mind was preoccupied.

How was he supposed to tell them that their worst nightmare was coming true and this time, there wouldn't be anyone to wake them up? Not until Blag was back behind bars and they knew that he wouldn't be after them again. For all he knew, the maniac had run in the opposite direction, but until he knew for sure, Jeff couldn't relax.

Pulling out his phone, he switched from father to businessman. It was getting late, but he knew he would be able to get through to his contacts. It wouldn't take much to rearrange his meetings so that they were all the next day. It would be non-stop, but at least that meant they could fly out tomorrow night and return to the safety of the island.

Half an hour later, he had made all his calls and shivered slightly as he hung up. The evenings here were cooler than he was used to, but he couldn't risk going inside and for one of his sons to start questioning why he was rescheduling everything. With a small huff of laughter, Jeff wondered how they would react when he told them that they couldn't leave the penthouse. Scott's appointment would have to be rescheduled as well - or they would have to fly someone out to the island. There was no way Jeff was letting him go across town, even if Virgil was with him. He knew he was being paranoid, but he couldn't help it. He had lost him once; he wasn't doing it again.

Just as he made to go back in, the door slid open and Scott came out to join him.

"Dad, what's going on?" he murmured quietly and Jeff stared at him in surprise. Scott met his gaze steadily.

"You might be fooling Virgil, but damnit, Dad, you're not fooling me. You're hiding something. You have been since we arrived. What's happened?"

Jeff sighed, turning back to the world below him as he rested his elbows on the railings and stared down to the ever-flowing traffic. He should have known that he wouldn't be able to hide it from them. The family was just too close - they had to be, living in on an island and doing the kind of work they did.

"Dad, c'mon, just tell me. Virg doesn't have to know if you don't want, but something is bugging you, isn't it?"

Jeff took a deep breath, forcing himself to turn and face his son. Scott looked like he was going to say something else and then caught the look on his father's face and snapped his mouth shut. Jeff could feel the weight of what he was about to say crushing down on him as he put a hand on Scott's shoulder.

"I heard from John," he said softly and he could see the fear beginning to work its way into Scott's eyes. Scott knew by his father's behaviour that whatever John had said had been bad news and was clearly worried about his brothers. Jeff gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

"Everyone's alright, Scott. But John had been watching the news, and then did some digging afterwards."

"Dad, what are you trying to say?" Scott asked quietly and Jeff looked him straight in the eye.

"There was a break out from Leavenworth, son."

Scott stumbled back before Jeff could say anything more, shaking his head. But Jeff could tell by the look on Scott's face that he knew where this was going.

"He…"

"He's out, son."

"No."

"Scotty…"

"No. Just no! He can't be." It was Scott's turn to face the railings this time and Jeff winced when he saw that Scott's knuckles had turned white with the force with which he was holding on. Despite wanting to reassure Scott, Jeff knew there was nothing he could say. His son wasn't a terrified teenager anymore; he was a man who dealt with the world's problems when no one else could. He had to come to terms with this by himself.

Jeff could see Scott's mind racing as he clearly tried to deny what he had just been told while knowing, deep down, that it was the truth.

"How can he be out? How could this have happened?" Despite the sentence starting as a whisper, it ended in a yell and Scott slammed the palm of his hand against the railing, causing the whole thing to rattle and for his father to take an involuntary step away from the edge.

"He had help. He wasn't the only prisoner to be broken out, another two escaped. Matt has the details; the whole city is on alert. He's not going to get close, I doubt he will even come to New York…"

"That's why you didn't want to go out for dinner, isn't it? It was nothing to do with you but because of this?"

"I was just trying to do the right thing…"

"How can you be so sure he isn't coming here if you wouldn't even let us go out somewhere crowded and safe?"

Jeff winced at the harsh note to Scott's voice and knew it was just because his son was angry and scared. Scott hadn't admitted to being afraid since he was a teenager and Jeff knew he wasn't about to start again now. After all, this was the same son who had hidden the fact that he was having nightmares from his own father because he didn't want him believing that he couldn't cope.

He opened his mouth to say something, but his gaze was drawn inside. He swallowed hard.

"Scott, where's your brother?"

Jeff thought Scott had been pale before but he was forced to steady the young man as he went deathly white. Jeff swore, yanking open the door as he did so. He should have thought of it before - it wasn't like Virgil to leave them out there alone without checking at least once, especially considering Jeff had admitted to being more tired than normal.

"Virgil?"

There was no answer, but Jeff had already been preparing himself for that. He turned to find that Scott had followed him in.

"Where is he?"

"He said something about needing a coke," Scott whispered. This time, it wasn't just his eyes that showed his fear, his whole face was etched with it. He took a step towards the door, but Jeff stopped him.

"I don't need two of you out there."

"You said that he wasn't coming here, that he wouldn't..."

"Let's… just not take any chances, okay?" Jeff gave Scott a pointed look as he pulled out his phone, telling his son to stay put. Scott chewed on his lip anxiously, but didn't seem to be about to move as Jeff once again put in a call.

But when a cell started ringing inside the apartment, father and son looked at each other before glancing at the coffee table. Virgil had left his phone behind. Jeff swore and dialled another number.

"Matt? I need a favour… You said that your boys are roaming the streets just in case? Do you think you can get someone to pick up Virgil and bring him back here?"

" _Have you told him?"_

"No. Scott knows, Virgil doesn't. He left before I knew he was gone. I know you said that it would be okay, but just in case? Please?"

" _Have you tried his watch?"_

Jeff blinked. He had been so caught up in his panic that he hadn't considered that phones were not the only technology at their disposal. Matt understood his silence and pressed on reassuringly.

" _You're at the penthouse right? I've got a couple of boys patrolling that area, they'll bring him back. Jeff, it's going to be okay. The worst you're going to get tonight is Virgil demanding to know why he can't even walk down the street without being escorted back, you understand me?"_

"Thanks, Matt. And when you've finished breaking the speed limit to get home to Nicole and the kids to make sure that everything is okay, call me back?" Jeff hung up even as Matt spluttered his protests.

"Watch," Jeff said, his racing heart not letting him say anything else. Scott shook his head, indicating where they had been working on the security system. Virgil's watch was amongst the wiring with the back off.

"He wanted to try and link it up," Scott whispered. While Jeff normally marvelled at his son's engineering talents, he groaned. Now was not the time for being out of contact. If only he had told them straight away…

Seeing the look on Scott's face, he took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together.

"Virgil would have only gone a couple of blocks at the most. Try not to worry, Scott. There is no reason for anything to be out of the ordinary - you could just say that I'm being paranoid."

"And you could say that it is rubbing off," Scott muttered, sitting back down on the couch and resting his elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. Jeff slowly sat down next to him.

"After all of this time, Dad? How can he be out now, it doesn't make any sense!"

"I know. But he won't be for long. The whole country is on high alert looking for him, how far do you think he is going to be able to get?"

"Depends who his contacts are," Scott muttered, his grip twisting until he had a tight hold on his hair. "We should know better than anyone that it doesn't take a hell of a lot to stay invisible, not if you've got the right people working for you."

"Slow down, Scott. The police are surrounding us and they're out looking for him. We'll be here for twenty-four hours at the most, twelve if I can make it work, and then we are going back home. It doesn't matter how many contacts he has, he can't reach us there. Not to mention John will probably have all of the answers for us by the time that we get back and be anonymously tipping off the police. I know it is easier said than done, but try not to worry, Scott."

"That would be so much easier if you weren't so worried that you won't even let us leave the apartment, Dad."

Jeff had no answer for that and just stayed where he was even as Scott stood up and started pacing. Jeff felt his leg start to bounce, a habit he had been forced to cure himself of when he had started in the business world. He clenched his muscles, forcing the limb to stay still. It wouldn't matter what he said to Scott if his body language gave away how he was truly feeling.

He was certain that everything was fine: Blag wouldn't have had time to get to New York considering he was being hunted.

Still… he would much rather that Virgil was back in the penthouse where he could keep an eye on him.

TBTBTB

Virgil shivered in the night air as he headed back towards the apartment. Scott was hiding something – there had been a strange look on his face all evening. Virgil had tried asking, but Scott had just shaken his head and continued to stare out at the balcony where their father had been making his calls. Frustrated at being shut out, Virgil had suddenly realised how much he needed some air. It was one thing living on an island with his entire family, but staying in a penthouse when the one closest to you was clearly hiding something was another matter entirely. He had muttered something about needing a drink and left.

He wasn't even sure Scott had noticed – he had just continued watching their father. Virgil hoped that the fresh air would grant him insight into what was going through his brother's mind.

Now, he wished he hadn't been so hasty, or had at least thought of putting a jacket on. The man in the store had given him a peculiar look as he had bought his drink, but Virgil was used to it. For a family who kept themselves out of the public eye as much as possible, people seemed to have a pretty good idea about what they looked like. Lucky, there had been someone behind him in the queue and the owner had had no choice but to continue to serve rather than piecing together where he knew Virgil from.

He had drunk his drink as he walked along, without truly noticing he was doing it. It seemed strange being in New York. Apart from the odd stay here and there, Virgil had never lived in such a busy city. They had lived on the outskirts of their town in Kansas, their house having more land than those surrounding them. Virgil had never really thought about it at the time, but now he was grateful for it. At least they had had space to get away from each other when they were growing up, for five boys under one roof wasn't easy. But although he had done a few years in Denver before heading to the island, New York always felt like another country when he came here.

It made him glad that his father had chosen the island for their home. Virgil couldn't help but wonder how different they would be if they had experienced more of city life than the peace of the island. The elder three maybe not so much, but Virgil had a feeling that Gordon would have been a very different person if this was where he had spent the later years of his teens. He might be a prankster, but Virgil knew his military training and the tranquillity of the island had calmed him down considerably compared to how he might have been if they had stayed here.

Virgil was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the police car coast past him, stop and then reverse back up the street until it was level with him.

"Tracy?"

Virgil jumped, turning as the window was rolled down and a friendly face looked out at him. For a wild moment, he wanted to say it wasn't him and he hadn't done anything, but then he knew he was being irrational. He nodded, not moving any closer until he knew what they wanted.

"We're under orders to give you a lift back, buddy. Your old man is freaking out about something and our superior wants us to pick you up. Get in."

The man lent back and opened the rear door, but Virgil didn't move.

"Let me talk to your superior."

While he knew that in general, police were to be trusted, Virgil had had more than one bad experience with cops who were supposed to be helping him and he couldn't help but be on his guard. The two officers glanced at each other before one nodded, switching on a radio and giving a few codes before offering it out to Virgil. The artist glanced around before taking a step forward, knowing the cord wouldn't reach any further. He had just touched the button when a voice was talking to him.

" _Virg?"_

"Matt? What the hell is going on? Why does Dad want me back like this? All I went to do was get a drink!"

" _I'm sorry, I haven't got time to explain - nor is it my place to do so. These boys will get you back though, Virg, I can promise you that. Just get in the car."_

"Fine," Virgil grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But you owe me a drink for being so cryptic."

He handed the radio back and climbed into the car. Whatever was wrong with his father, Matt knew about it. There hadn't been the usual cheerful note in his voice. Instead, he had sounded the way he did when they were talking about International Rescue and Matt was fulfilling his role as an agent. Something was going on and Virgil was determined to find out what it was.

Shutting the door, he ignored the officers talking quietly together as the car headed back towards the penthouse. Virgil knew that it would have been just as quick to walk, but he also knew that when his father had made up his mind about something, then there was no stopping him. If these officers were under orders to get him back, then Virgil knew that they would do so no matter how much he argued. So instead, the artist just stared out of the window, mind working over different things he could say to his father to tell him how annoyed he was. They could have just called him! Intending to call Scott and find out what was going on, Virgil put his hand in his pocket and groaned. It was only now he realised he had left his cell sitting on the side.

"What the hell-?"

The low mutter drew Virgil's attention even as the car came to a smooth stop. Virgil lent forward in his seat to peer through the windshield and frowned when he saw that a car was parked across the street, totally blocking it. He sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door.

"I'll walk from here, guys. Look, you can see the building, you've still technically done your job. I'll be fine."

"Don't get out of the car!"

Virgil started in surprise, drawing his hand away from the handle again. It wasn't the words, but it was the fear in the officer's voice. Something told Virgil that even these two officers knew what was going on and he was getting annoyed that he seemed to be the only one who didn't know. The driver slammed the car into reverse, but there was a hideous screech of metal as another car came up behind them, blocking the way out. Despite not knowing what was happening, Virgil felt his heart begin to pound uncomfortably hard. Whatever it was, it seemed to be serious.

"On second thoughts, get ready to run!"

"Why? What's happening?" Virgil cried. But the man who had addressed him was too busy making sure that his weapon was loaded and taking aim out of the window. Virgil twisted to see out of the back and knew instantly that one gun was not going to be enough. He could see at least five pointing their way, and knew that the same would be at the front as well. Knowing there was no choice, Virgil reached for his watch.

Then he swore violently, phrases that he would never dare utter if his grandmother had been around. His watch was upstairs, in pieces due to his attempt to tweak the security system.

A volley of gunfire drew his attention. Virgil realised that he had no way of contacting Scott, and it was a strange feeling he didn't like.

"Get down!"

"I can help!" Virgil yelled, twisting automatically into a more defensive stance. They might generally be known as the playboy sons of Jeff Tracy, but that didn't mean he was going to keep up the pretence when his life was in danger. The officers didn't answer, both taking aim themselves as bullets ricocheted off the side of the car. Virgil ducked as the back window smashed but found himself swearing when the car door he had been trying to get towards suddenly dented in more than one place. Virgil knew it meant some of the gunmen were approaching the car and that their shots were gaining more force the closer they got.

But just as suddenly as the shots had started, they stopped again. Virgil, his heart thudding in his chest, turned to the front of the car. His mind was already telling him what he would see, for there was only one reason why the two men would have stopped firing back. Virgil swore, shutting his eyes for a moment when he saw them both slumped over, totally still. He shook his head, anger filling him. It was the same sort of anger he felt at a rescue when someone slipped from his grasp, that feeling that he should have been able to save them if he had just moved that little bit quicker.

Keeping low, Virgil managed to edge forward and clumsily grasped for a gun. He grimaced as he felt blood coating one, but managed to get a grip on it. The fact the shooting had stopped unnerved him. They either didn't know he was here and thought they had got their targets.

Or they knew _precisely_ who was in the back of the car and Virgil was their target.

While part of him desperately hoped it was the former, Virgil couldn't help feeling it was more likely to be the latter.

His thoughts were only confirmed when the back door opened just as he was trying to move back to his seat. Virgil didn't have time to turn as a hand grabbed his belt and effectively dragged him out of the car. He winced as he hit the pavement, but he instantly rolled, kicking out and driving his feet into the stomach of his attacker. The man stumbled back and Virgil moved as fast as he could, placing the car between him and the man.

"You can't beat us, boy! Come out." Virgil didn't move, just checked how many rounds he had left, resisting the urge to bang his head against the car when he realised that it was only one. A face loomed over the car as one of the men approached him and Virgil had fired before he knew what he was doing. Groaning, he flipped the gun around, wondering if he could use it as a club as he started edging along the ground to try and see the penthouse.

All he could properly see were the boots of the men as they surrounded the car. Even from the angle he was at, Virgil was certain there were at least ten of them. What was he supposed to do against odds like that? Though he didn't have time to worry about why such odds were there in the first place: staying alive was the priority.

Virgil knew he had to move. They were closing in on him right now and he wasn't sure he could hold out until the cops arrived. So while the men were muttering to each other, Virgil rose from a crouch and simply ran.

He got past the first couple before they knew he was moving, but the third reacted in time. His hand shot out as Virgil raced past, catching the artist by the wrist and almost flinging him back down again. Virgil skidded, but managed to just about keep his footing as he lashed out with the gun. The man howled as his nose broke, but he didn't loosen his grip on the struggling Tracy. Virgil pulled for all he was worth and let out his own hiss of pain as his wrist protested the strain. He finally wrenched free, stumbling as he tried to get away.

The others had realised that he was fleeing and closed in even as Virgil moved away, the gun slipping from his hand. He was surrounded again before he had gone more than a few steps, and although several of the men would have bruises later on from where Virgil had fought back for all he was worth, it was over in moments. While he had been distracted by one, another had simply moved up behind him and grabbed his wrist. One fierce wrench had Virgil's arm up behind his back and he was almost doubled in half from where he was trying to stop his assailant from dislocating his shoulder. Slowly, Virgil was forced down to his knees.

"Who are you?" he gasped, still trying to get free despite knowing that it was hopeless.

"Doesn't matter," the man grunted, exerting more pressure as he forced Virgil over. While Virgil was struggling to maintain his balance, he felt his other arm being seized and also pulled behind his back, wincing as they were bound there, the restraints harshly tight. "What matters is that you are coming with us."

"Don't think so," Virgil spat, trying to get to his feet as he spoke. Flashing lights advanced from the end of the street and Virgil breathed a sigh of relief – the cops had arrived. But the men were clearly expecting them as an order was grunted and some of the men moved forward to delay the police. Virgil made to kick out when he felt the cold barrel of a gun being placed against his neck.

"You don't get a say in it," the man snarled.

Virgil tried to pull away and the grip on the gun was shifted. He saw people approaching, but that was all when the gun crashed into his head and he hit the floor, conscious fleeing from him. The last thing he saw was his attacker's boots closing in around him before darkness overwhelmed him and he knew no more.


	6. Chapter 6

_Real life is mean, that's all I can say!_

* * *

Scott hadn't been pacing for long when he paused. Something wasn't right. Years of looking out for his brothers in the most dangerous situations meant that Scott knew when to listen to his instincts. He felt it for all of them, but couldn't deny he had more of a connection with Virgil. They both felt it – each knew when the other was in trouble.

And right now, Scott was convinced that Virgil was in real danger! He couldn't stay here, pacing. He had to get out and help his brother.

But he hadn't even reached the door when his father seemed to come out of nowhere, physically blocking his way and wearing an expression that told Scott that he wasn't leaving. The son tried to push forward again, but was stopped by a hand to his chest.

"You're not going out there, Scott."

Scott saw his father's phone clutched tightly in his hand and he wondered if the man would call the police on him as well.

"You can't stop me."

"Don't be an idiot!"

Scott almost stepped back at his father's snap, realising in those few words just how much this was getting to the man. But even as he watched, his father lifted the phone again. Scott knew he wasn't the only one feeling frustrated – Virgil should have been back by now and they both knew better than to hope he was just taking the scenic route.

Scott backed away from the door, knowing that if he distracted his father now, it would take longer for help to arrive. He moved back across to the balcony, wondering if he would be able to see Virgil from up there.

The street below appeared deserted.

Scott swore and moved back into the room. His father had turned away, talking frantically on the phone. Scott glanced at the door, then back at his dad. He knew how furious the man would be. But there was no other option.

He knew Virgil was in trouble. He felt it. Everything they had been through together over the years made him pay attention to that feeling.

He moved silently across the room, holding his breath as he inched the door open. His father didn't notice. With one final guilty look at the man, Scott slipped through and ran down the corridor.

It didn't matter how many times he jabbed the button on the elevator, it still moved with excruciating slowness, first in arriving at his floor, then descending to the lobby.

Scott froze for a moment once he reached the lobby _,_ chewing his lip in uncertainty. Virgil was out there, but Scott didn't know where. If he went the wrong way, it would cost time. Time his brother may not have.

But before he could decide what to do, there came a sound that made his blood run cold. A sound he knew too well, after hearing it for months in his nightmares.

Gunshots.

Scott was out onto the street, the door revolving wildly behind him, before he realised that he was unarmed and on his own. People were running, screams filling the air as they tried to flee the scene. Scott no longer had to think about where to go – he went in the opposite direction to everyone else.

"Move!" No one heeded him as Scott shoved his way through the crowds, cursing as they hindered his progress. A man tried to grab him in his panic, yelling something incomprehensible, but Scott shoved him away and pushed through.

Eventually, the crowds cleared and Scott saw why. There was a car parked sideways, blocking the street. There was no one in it, or even nearby. Scott glanced at it before his attention was grabbed again.

There was a commotion further up the street and Scott hurried forward. Instinct kicked in. There would be no frightened by-stander waiting for him, not this time. He kept close to the walls, letting the shadows conceal him even as he ran.

There was a second car and Scott swore, skidding to a stop when he realised it was a cop car, littered with bullet holes. Two figures were slumped in the front. Scott's breath caught, emotions swelling in him. They had been sent to protect Virgil. If the Tracys hadn't come to the mainland, if Scott had just been able to control the nightmares… Guilt surged and for a second, Scott stood rooted to the spot.

An angry and defiant voice cut through to Scott and he cursed again. His feelings had been right: Virgil was right in the middle of the fight. He looked around the car, and suddenly saw his brother.

Virgil was surrounded, held down on his knees. But Scott only had the chance to take one more step before a gun collided with the back of Virgil's head and he fell.

Scott moved, not caring if he was seen. There was only one thought locked into his head: get to Virgil. He scrambled to get past the car, sliding over the hood in one fluid movement. But he was too slow. Two men had already hoisted Virgil up. Scott's guilt disappeared and anger coursed through him. His heart thudded painfully and Scott couldn't breathe. His anger was great, but his fear was greater. He couldn't move, watching his worst nightmare play out before his eyes.

It was obvious from the way Virgil hung limply in their grasp that he had not only been knocked out, he had been bound as well.

"Hey!" Anger flashed through Scott and he broke free of his paralysis.

The men all looked back at him. One yelled an order and instantly, the rest of the men all raised their guns towards Scott. He didn't notice, watching as the men dumped Virgil in a trunk of a third car before they got in themselves.

Scott glimpsed the plates and tried to move forward but was forced to dive away, sheltering behind the corner of a building as bullets ricocheted off the brickwork inches from his face. Scott dropped into a crouch, hands clenched and body tense. He needed to be going after the car – even over the guns, he could hear an engine – but knew stepping out would result in injury, if not death. They were holding him at bay and there was nothing Scott could do about it.

A squeal of tyres announced the arrival of the cops. They returned fire and Scott stood, inching his way back around the wall. It was too late though. The alley where the car had been parked was deserted.

Virgil was gone.

Scott was supposed to be the Field Commander of International Rescue, but right now, he couldn't even save his own brother.

Eventually, the firing stopped and a scuffle broke out. Scott moved in a daze, ignoring the officers motioning for him to stay back. He barely noticed the three men dead in the street or the others being handcuffed and escorted back up the road. His vision tunnelled until all he could see was the empty alley.

He crouched, fingers brushing over the tarmac. There was no visible tyre print. Brains or John might have picked something up, but they weren't here. Scott was the one here – and he had failed.

"Scott?"

The quiet voice behind him made him turn. His father was standing there and Scott felt he was looking in a mirror; the same fear and fury was etched into his father's weary expression.

"I'm going to find him. And I'm going to kill him," Scott vowed softly, knowing his father would understand.

"We don't know…"

"…it was him? They took my brother, Dad. The same day he happened to get out? You've never believed in coincidences before, don't start now. Not when Virgil's life is on the line."

Scott didn't voice what else was going through his mind. They hadn't taken him. He had been vulnerable – he had stood there frozen for long enough! If it was a normal kidnapping, they would know two hostages were better than one.

There was one person, however, who would know what taking Virgil would do to Scott.

Jeff moved closer and Scott winced at the tight grip on his arm. He had underestimated his father's emotions.

"Don't suggest I think this is chance! I'm just trying to think of the facts, Scott. The whole city is on alert for him; he can't just saunter into town and not be recognised. You need to think clearly. You won't find Virgil if you blind yourself to other options."

His father let go and moved towards the cops. Scott felt helpless. He should have moved quicker, taken them down and helped Virgil, rather than just standing there watching as his brother disappeared.

Police had begun to cordon off the area, forcing the crowds to disperse. Scott scoffed in disgust – they had run away when there was danger, now they were flooding the area, keen to see the aftermath.

Scott had no idea what his father had said to the cops, but he entered the building unchallenged. It felt surreal walking back into the penthouse, knowing everything had changed. His father was standing on the balcony again and Scott knew by the rigid set to his shoulders to leave him be.

He sank onto the sofa instead, running his fingers through his hair. He tried to pull himself together so when the cops started asking their questions, the words that escaped him wouldn't get him arrested.

 _How could this have happened?_

He knew coming to the mainland had been a bad idea; he had had a bad feeling ever since his father told him he was going. Everyone thought it was because he was being forced to face the dreams – and, ultimately, his past – but it had been more than that. Scott hadn't understood himself, but now he knew. Coming to the mainland had just made everything ten times worse.

His fingers ghosted over his watch, but Scott didn't press anything. He knew the others needed to be told, needed to be _protected_. With Brains on Five, Scott didn't even have the reassurance one of his brothers was beyond Blag's reach by being in space.

But he had no idea what to do or say. Not this time.

He needed a lead. Something, _anything,_ that would give him a clue to tracking his brother.

* * *

Jeff sat stiffly on the sofa, not moving as he watched the cops mill around the penthouse. The only reason he hadn't thrown them all out by now was that Matt had arrived and taken charge, despite wearing casual clothes and looking just as harrowed as Jeff felt. The pair hadn't had a chance to talk, not properly, but Jeff knew the detective wouldn't let his men ask the wrong questions.

Scott was asleep in the next room, but through no choice of his own. Paramedics had turned up shortly after the cops, and once someone had let slip Scott had been in the midst of the action, they had insisted on checking him over. Finding out they were dealing with the Tracy family meant they weren't taking no as an option – they wouldn't risk their jobs, or the hospital as a whole, if they backed down and Jeff pressed charges.

He knew what his son was like though, knew that Scott wouldn't mention if he had been injured in the fight now that his mind was fixed on Virgil. He wouldn't even tell his father. Jeff had told his son to let the paramedics do their job, just to put his own mind at rest. Once he had been given the all-clear, though, the paramedic had given Scott something to help him sleep. They clearly believed that the playboy son of a billionaire couldn't handle that type of shock. Jeff would have laughed at the look on Scott's face if he could.

Scott had thrown the tablets away but Jeff had picked them up. He had quickly read the instructions before dissolving the tablets into a glass of water and pressing it into Scott's hand. His son had downed it automatically.

Jeff only just got his boy into bed, ignoring the accusing glares, before Scott had slipped under. It had been a cheap trick on his part, but Jeff knew that neither of them were going to get much rest until Virgil was back, so if Scott could at least sleep now, it was something. He wouldn't be able to handle the endless questions without doing something he regretted.

Matt walked stiffly across the room from where he had been talking into his phone, dismissing a few men lingering too close with just a look, and sat down opposite Jeff.

"One of them started speaking," he said softly, referring to the men who had been taken into custody. "They aren't saying much; they're more afraid of someone other than us. But he let slip a name, something Russian."

Jeff sat up straighter, his interest piqued as he thought back to what John had said when his son had reported the breakout. He wasn't sure how much he could remember – he had stopped paying attention as soon as John had told him Blag was out.

"Wasn't...?"

"One of the other men broken out with Blag, Russian? Yes."

Jeff sat back slowly, running his hand through his hair and blowing out a breath, glancing at Scott's shut door.

"So just because Blag hasn't entered the city doesn't mean that he isn't behind it?"

"I hoped they'd give me a lead on a local gang. We could storm in and find a sheepish Virgil apologising for being caught unaware," Matt muttered. He looked as exhausted as Jeff felt. "But I don't think that is what we are dealing with. The nationality alone is enough for it to link back to Blag. Especially given your past with him."

"It doesn't make sense though," Jeff protested. But he didn't believe his own words: he agreed with Matt. He _wanted_ to believe it was a local gang – Virgil could handle himself, after all. But he knew it wasn't true. "How could he know that we're in New York?"

Matt frowned, thinking through what he had been told. Eventually, he shook his head.

"Did you hire a car from the airstrip?"

Jeff frowned. He knew Matt knew the answer to that; they did it every time. It was one thing leaving the plane there for the few days, even if the media got wind that the Tracys were in town. It had proven to be too much hassle to keep a car as well, so when Gordon had written off the last one, Jeff had refused to buy a new one. For the sake of spending a little money hiring a car now and again, it was a lot less stress.

"Did you use your own name?"

"What other name would I use?" Jeff asked, but he knew where this was going. Judging by the look on Matt's face, he was thinking the same.

"You think he had people watching out for us, just in case?"

"If he knew your business meetings took place in New York, he knew you would come eventually. Maybe it's just coincidence you came on the same day that he broke out? Maybe Virgil wasn't the specific target, he was just the first one to walk out on his own. They were waiting for him, Jeff. They were right outside the door; Virgil wouldn't have stood a chance whether he had been brought back by the cops or walked up himself. I think they were watching the building, they knew he was out there alone. They didn't take him on the way out because they didn't know if someone else would be coming out. They waited for him to come back."

Jeff didn't know what to say. The thought that this had been planned in advance, that it would have happened to whoever had walked out of the door – whether it be him, Virgil or Scott – and that it would have happened whether they had come now, next week or in two months' time, was terrifying.

It made Jeff feel as if they were being watched this very moment. Blag was already one step ahead and they had no proof it was even him. Matt read the helplessness on his face as he grimaced sympathetically before standing up and yelling orders for his men to move out.

How Scott slept through it, Jeff didn't know, but it made him wish that he had kept one of the tablets for himself. He knew there would be no sleep for him tonight. It wouldn't help Virgil, but he couldn't give in and rest, not while his son was missing.

By the time Jeff stirred from his musings, most of the room had been cleared.

"I want to leave someone with you, Jeff."

"No."

"But if he is watching, if he has eyes everywhere…"

"Then it won't stop him getting to us. You saw what happened to your men down there, Matt. Do you want to tell any more families that their loved ones aren't coming home? This is between us and him, and he will go through anyone to get what he wants. I won't have anyone else hurt for us."

Matt looked like he was going to protest and Jeff knew it went against his protocol to leave a victim without protection. But Jeff couldn't help it. He felt it would be playing straight into Blag's hands if more people got dragged into this. More than anything, Jeff knew what Blag was like with mind games. If he could use it against them that someone else had been hurt, then he would.

Eventually, however, the detective sighed and nodded, knowing Jeff wouldn't back down, and dismissed the last few men with just a nod.

Jeff looked up at him and smiled tightly.

"Go home, Matt. You know there is nothing more you can do tonight and your family needs you."

"But…"

"Go. Nicole will have both of our hides if you don't go home to her tonight."

Matt grinned, but Jeff could tell it was as forced as the light-hearted note in his own voice. It did the trick, however, for the man slowly nodded, clapped a hand on Jeff's shoulder and left.

Only when silence fell did the enormity of what was happening crash down on him. Blag was out, and already coming for them. It didn't matter that they had no solid proof yet. One Russian name and they had found a reason to link it back to him. Any other situation and Jeff knew that he would be scolding himself for making such assumptions.

Sighing, the father slowly stood up, opening Scott's door. His heart caught at realising this was the first time that he had seen Scott sleeping peacefully for a long time. He knew that it didn't count, that the drugs had taken him too far under to still be able to dream, but Jeff could only watch him for a moment before backing out and closing the door.

Then he finally allowed himself to look towards the other door, knowing that there was no Virgil behind it.

Without thinking, he threw all the cushions from the sofa onto the floor, tipping over a small coffee table with a yell. Snatching up the small lamp that had been resting on the table, Jeff flung it as hard as he could at the wall. He would have watched it fall to the floor and shatter had he not been doing the same thing himself, dropping to his knees and doubling over. There were no thoughts going through his head, no plans or ways that he was going to be able to get Virgil back. He was completely numb.

They had come here to get Scott help. It was supposed to make things better, once again put the maniac from their minds and allow them to go on doing what they did best as a family.

But instead, his entire world had just come crashing down around him, and Jeff had no idea what he was supposed to do to start fixing it.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you so much for the lovely comments, I really appreciate them. A special thank you to those of you I cannot respond directly to! I hope you like this next chapter!_

* * *

Virgil grimaced as he regained consciousness. Pain pulsed from the back of his head and he knew, even without opening his eyes, that he was cramped into a small space. The twist of his limbs told him his hands were still cuffed. His feet were also bound, but after a small wriggle, Virgil was convinced it was only loosely. He was more concerned that he seemed to be gagged and there was something tied over his eyes.

His heart sank as he forced his eyes to open: he had indeed been blindfolded. It made him worry. Would he be able to recognise someone or something? Was he gagged because aid was close by? Frustration surged and Virgil gritted his teeth, tugging at his bonds. He wanted to know what was going on!

After his father had set up International Rescue, they had trained for various situations, using Scott and Gordon's past experiences with the military to shape potential scenarios. They knew there would be people opposed to them: one look at the Thunderbirds and people would covet their technology. They all knew their machines in the wrong hands would destroy the world far more effectively than their attempts to save it, and so they had practised reacting to hostile situations.

It was only now that Virgil released they hadn't covered kidnappings that had nothing to do with International Rescue.

He also realised how many of the scenarios seemed to result in one main cause of action: the brothers getting back to Scott. Or, rather, Mobile Control, but Virgil knew he wasn't the only one who instinctively moved towards their big brother when trouble struck.

If he wasn't already so disorientated, Virgil would have banged his head against something from sheer annoyance. What good was Scott to him now? He had no idea if his brother was next to him, or on the other side of the world.

With his vision restricted, Virgil had no idea what time of day it was. He could have been unconscious for minutes, or hours. Had his brother witnessed him being taken? Had Scott got himself caught as well? Or did his family have no idea anything was amiss? Virgil refused to believe that. Scott would have known he was in trouble. How, Virgil had no idea, but he trusted his gut and that told him Scott knew.

Virgil worked his feet free as he thought through his predicament. They hadn't planned ahead for this trip; no one knew they were in the city apart from his father's business associates. Virgil knew first hand they couldn't necessarily be trusted. But after events of the past, he knew his father took precautions and examined his partners closely.

The men had been waiting for him, however…

Virgil refused to panic. One thing International Rescue had taught him was he had to think rationally. Apart from the promotion, there was a reason why Matt had taken the job in New York – his role as an agent for them. He would know, and have warned them, if there was a threat.

Virgil told himself it had been a random attack and his family were already figuring it out. It didn't matter who was behind it. They would be made to pay as soon as Scott and their father caught up. Whoever it was might have been cautious with the blindfold, but it wouldn't save them from the wrath of the rest of the family.

The thoughts didn't help calm him.

As he lay there, his legs curled into his chest, Virgil heard the unmistakable sound of a key in a lock. He squirmed, kicking free the last of the rope around his feet and lashing out. His feet slammed against a wall and Virgil realised just how small his prison was. Before he could panic, however, fresh air washed over him and he breathed deeply. He could hear engines running nearby and his hands clenched into fists. They had caught him off guard the first time, but Virgil had no intention of being moved further away from his family without a fight.

A hand suddenly entwined with his collar, pulling him upright and dragging him forward at the same time. Virgil felt a rough edge press against his chest and figured he had been trapped in the trunk of a car. It didn't matter now though; two sets of hands grabbed his arms, pulling him free from the car.

His feet scrambled for purchase, but Virgil's balance was thrown off thanks to the blindfold. The hands moved, resting on his shoulders this time and forcing him down. Tied how he was, Virgil had no option but to fall, thudding down onto his knees. The hands stayed on his shoulders, keeping him down. Virgil prepared to try and rise, knowing full well how vulnerable he was on his knees. But when fingers started tugging at the blindfold, he remained still. He'd be a fool if he prevented them from releasing him.

A muffled cry, lost in the gag, escaped him as the blindfold was pulled free. Virgil screwed up his watering eyes, trying to clear the lights flashing behind his closed lids. A bright spotlight was in front of him, shining directly into his eyes. Even without the blindfold, he couldn't see any better.

Blinking, Virgil kept his gaze low, looking around the best he could without looking up. Numerous pairs of feet surrounded him and Virgil knew better than to attempt to rise – he was more than outnumbered and knew he had no chance against those odds. But something else caught his eye and Virgil twisted his upper body in order to see.

To start with, he couldn't work out why his captors let him see the plane – they had been cautious up until now. But as the hard tarmac pressed into his knees and his shoulders strained with his hands tied behind him, Virgil knew why. He felt utterly helpless.

With Scott as a brother, Virgil knew enough about planes to know this one could fly low, avoiding the official flight paths and not having to make contact with the authorities. They could take him anywhere, and only a handful of people would even know a plane had taken off, let alone know he was on it. Virgil was sure this wasn't the type of craft to keep a passenger log.

Slow and deliberate footsteps could be heard over the low purr of the engines. Virgil wasn't surprised when they came to a stop right in front of him – there didn't appear to be anyone else at the airstrip. Virgil swallowed, a cold feeling slowly growing in his chest.

He was on his own. There was no one to help him.

Craning his head up, Virgil squinted against the light as he stared up at his captor. He had been expecting a gang, someone who looked intimidating. This man, however, was dressed in a smart suit, his hair immaculate and an expression of indifference on his face. He stared at Virgil even as Virgil glared up at him, not saying a word.

There was something familiar about the man but Virgil couldn't put his finger on what. He didn't know him personally, that was for sure. But Virgil was convinced he had seen him somewhere before. He wondered if it was a rescue victim, but that didn't feel right. The man radiated a sense of danger and Virgil racked his brains, searching for a clue as to where he knew him from.

A sharp blow to the face sent Virgil reeling. He managed to keep his balance, but only just. Virgil continued trying to figure the man out. A second punch, however, banished the thoughts from his mind and he fell. With his hands tied behind him, he had no chance of kneeling back up as the man stepped closer.

All he could do was grit his teeth, and hope the beating ended as suddenly as it started.

Unfortunately for him, Virgil could feel blood trickling from his nose and one eye was puffy and swollen by the time the man drew back. He wasn't even panting. Virgil groaned behind the gag, trying not to cough as he caught his own breath, knowing it would only aggravate his protesting ribs.

"Get him on board," the man ordered quietly. Virgil was sure there was a hint of Russian in the accent. They hadn't been on a rescue in Russia for a long time – this was certainly no victim.

Virgil hadn't noticed two men approaching until they once again grabbed his arms, hauling him up and dragging him towards the plan. Virgil tried to get his feet under him, but the men didn't seem to feel his struggles as they steadily pulled him forwards. Virgil fought with everything he had as they reached the steps, but it made no difference. His hands were tied and his head was swimming. The men merely tightened their grip, laughed, and started forcing him onto the plane.

Virgil knew his chance of being back at the penthouse that evening was long gone.

TBTBTB

John knew something was wrong. He didn't know who, he didn't know what, but he knew. It was because he hadn't heard anything from the mainland. After the news he had broken earlier, he had expected his father to make contact, even if it was just to check he had calmed down and reassured Gordon. The entire family would be affected by Blag's breakout; John had expected contact before now.

Yet there had been nothing but silence.

The astronaut glanced at Gordon sitting opposite him, ashen-faced and silent. John knew Gordon didn't remember as much about _that_ time as the rest of them. But he had known enough: Gordon had suffered from his own nightmares, terrified of being left alone. Even now, Gordon had moments of overprotectiveness that rivalled Scott's if someone was out of sight, even if the young man didn't realise why he was doing it. He remembered enough to know how the news would affect his older siblings. John had honestly thought Gordon was going to pass out when he had told his brother what was wrong.

"They should have called by now." It was the first thing Gordon had said for hours. John knew he wasn't the only one thinking something was wrong.

"Dad was taking them out for dinner. Maybe they stayed out later than planned?" Even to his own ears, John's words sounded false. Their father wouldn't stay out, perhaps wouldn't even _go_ out in the first place. Gordon shot him an irritated look, not in the mood to be placated.

John sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

"What do you want me to say, Gords? I have no more idea than you do. Yes, they should have called by now, but they haven't. There isn't anything I can do about it."

"We could call them," Gordon muttered, uncurling himself from the chair.

John would have felt relieved that Gordon was moving again. Seeing him sitting that still for such an extended length of time had been unnerving – it simply wasn't Gordon.

But he knew he couldn't let Gordon call. If anyone had to do it – especially if their suspicions were right – John knew it had to be him. Scott would expect it of him, keeping Gordon safe from bad news until there was a better way to break it.

"Gordon." His voice was quiet, yet John knew there was enough authority in it to make his little brother pause. Sure enough, Gordon stopped halfway between standing and sitting, glancing back at him.

"You want to know what is going on too," Gordon said softly and John sighed.

Gordon had to know what that tone of voice did to his brother. John couldn't deny him anything when Gordon sounded like that. He was so quiet, so unsure and unlike himself that it was instinct for John to try and make it better. It had worked when Gordon was five…and it worked now.

Gordon started to move again, but John stood up first.

"I'll do it," he said.

His phone was in his pocket, he hadn't needed to move. But it allowed him to turn away from Gordon, ensuring his expression gave nothing away. Still, his thumb hovered over the button, reluctant to connect. Their father could be deep in conversation with their brothers, talking through the implications of Blag being out. They could be out for dinner, having a great time and wondering why John was being paranoid. Or something could have happened, and they couldn't get in contact even if they wanted to.

John wanted to know what was going on: he was terrified of finding out.

"Pressing dial is usually a good start," Gordon said. John blinked, looking over his shoulder and realising Gordon was watching him intently, waiting for him to make the call. Gordon looked ready to bolt and John knew if he didn't make the call, Gordon would. Sighing, he hit the button and lifted the phone as Scott's began to ring hundreds of miles away.

Normally, when John called his big brother, Scott answered immediately. It didn't matter if John was using conventional means or the technology that International Rescue had left at their disposal, it never took more than a couple of rings for Scott to pick up.

When it got to the fourth ring, John knew for sure that something was wrong.

He sent Gordon a reassuring smile to hide that he was beginning to panic, willing Scott to answer.

" _John."_

John nearly dropped the phone. Scott sounded broken, vulnerable in a way John hadn't heard for years. Now, more than ever, John was glad he hadn't let Gordon call.

John took a deep breath. He was used to distressing phone calls; it was what he did day in, day out. All he had to do was detach himself from what was being spoken about and he knew that he would be able to handle it.

Of course, that was a lot easier when it wasn't his own family on the other end of the line. But Scott needed him to keep calm and John slipped into the role of a rescuer. It made it easier.

"What's happened?" he asked, his voice calm despite his heart in his mouth. He turned back to the wall, ensuring that Gordon couldn't see his face. He could hear his brother huffing in annoyance, but John didn't look around this time. He had to know the facts, had to know what he was dealing with, before he let Gordon realise the severity of the situation. He couldn't hide his words from his brother, but he could hide his fear.

"Scott, what's going on?" John knew how good Scott was at hiding how he was feeling. Finding out about Blag wouldn't cause Scott to sound like this; he would have made an effort to cover it up before talking to his brother. Something else had happened. John's heart was pounding, his mouth going dry even as his palms sweated. He wasn't being paranoid; something bad had happened.

"Scott?"

" _Something happened to Virg… Someone… Johnny, someone took him."_

"What?" John had heard perfectly clearly what his brother had said. But the words didn't want to register in his brain. How could something have happened to Virgil? They all knew how to defend themselves, the majority of people in New York wouldn't have stood a chance against Virgil. John shut his eyes, taking another deep breath. It had been a long time since he had panicked.

"What happened?"

" _They were waiting for him. There were loads of them. They were armed. I couldn't get close, I couldn't get to him…"_

"Are you-?"

" _I'm fine."_

John sagged back onto the seat. He knew by Scott's voice that he was not fine, but at least he was talking and being enough of his stubborn self to not admit if anything else was wrong. John could only imagine how helpless Scott must feel right now, knowing that someone had taken his brother from under his nose and he hadn't been able to do anything about it.

"Is it…" John didn't know how to finish his sentence. What if Scott didn't know that Blag was out and John was just about to make the whole situation worse? But he had to know; had to hear what the cops were saying.

If nothing else, he needed a starting point himself. He could do a lot more than the local police even though he was miles away.

" _We don't know_ ," Scott said quietly. John heard far more in Scott's words than his brother knew. Scott _did_ know about Blag and John knew that Scott hadn't finished speaking. He stayed quiet, waiting to see what Scott was going to say next.

" _There's no proof, no real link apart from one vague connection. But it is him, John. I just know it_."

"What's Dad saying?"

" _That we have to keep our options open."_

John grimaced at the bitterness in Scott's voice. He knew why he was sounding like that, though. No doubt their father was as convinced as they were that Blag was behind this. His refusal to admit it and to look at practical solutions must be driving Scott mad.

He knew why his father was doing it. If there was any chance that it was a local gang, or even a disgruntled employee, behind Virgil's abduction, they had a chance. They would be able to find him and bring the people responsible to justice. If it was Blag, John knew they faced a completely different scenario. One they had no idea how to address.

" _John, I gotta go, they need me to tell them for the hundredth time what happened. It's not like it's going to change with each retelling…"_

Scott hung up even as he continued mumbling to himself and for a split second, John allowed himself a smile. Scott didn't like not being in charge of the situation. It didn't matter who was behind this, Scott would want to be the one to find Virgil in order to make them pay for taking his brother. Having to follow orders and do as he was told would not be sitting well with Scott.

But the smile only lasted a split second before fading as quickly as it had come. John stared down at the phone clutched in his hand, his mind reeling.

Virgil was gone.

How could Virgil be gone?

They had gone there to try and help Scott, to try and put the past behind them for once and for all, despite having already believed they had done that. How could it be happening now? Whether it was Blag or not, John knew the sort of impact this was going to have on Scott. The nightmares would be even worse and this time, there would be no way he would agree to go and talk to anyone.

Right now, though, he didn't care about his brother's nightmares. Virgil was the only thing that mattered. John knew he had to find him, had to do something!

Without saying a word to Gordon, John started moving from the room, his mind firmly locked on how he could solve this. He wanted to trace Virgil's watch, but he knew it wouldn't be that easy. Scott would have made contact the second Virgil had disappeared if it was a simple matter of tracking him down again. John didn't know why, but he knew Virgil's watch was out of action. It made him grit his teeth in anger – he didn't have a starting point right now.

The one advantage of spending most of his time on a space station was that John had come to know the feeling of helplessness quite well. But it had also given him ways of channelling it and stopping it from consuming him. He just needed another way to think about the situation rather than focusing on the fact that he had no idea where Virgil was.

"John?" Gordon's tone indicated that it wasn't the first time he had called his brother. John blinked, shaking off the haze his mind had sunk into and looked back at Gordon. The younger man was even paler than before and John cursed. Just because he had been looking the other way didn't mean that Gordon hadn't heard his conversation. He knew something was wrong.

But there was also a glint in his eye, the same determination that John could feel racing through him. John hadn't worked out what he was going to tell Gordon – wanting to protect him from the truth even though Gordon was an adult who could handle himself. But one look at his brother's face and John knew he had to be honest. Gordon wouldn't accept anything else.

"What's happened to Virgil?"

John started. Then he realised that he had used Scott's name more than once and mentioned their father in the conversation. Gordon had heard too much – he had already figured out more than John gave him credit for.

John turned, putting his hand on Gordon's shoulder.

"Someone's taken him, Gords. They don't really know anything yet, but…" John realised he was shaking. Saying the words out loud made it so real, and he had to take a deep breath in order not to freak out.

Someone had taken his little brother.

Virgil was gone.

"John, breathe."

The order was soft and gentle and John once again forced himself to suck in a sharp breath before nodding at Gordon in gratitude. He could do this, he was used to having to control his emotions while being stuck away from the action and knowing there was nothing he could do to help.

"So what do I need to do?"

"What?"

"To get him back? I'm assuming you are about to go and hack into the police system and see what they have been filing so far in order to try and get a lead on something. And I know you can't do this alone, no matter how awesome you might be. So, what do I need to do?"

This time, John found that his smile was genuine and he squeezed Gordon's shoulder before walking off. He called back a list of instructions, equipment that he would need, over his shoulder as he did so, not realising he was using the technical names for the items. When he finally looked around, Gordon was staring at him, looking utterly confused. John shook his head fondly.

"Go and make me a coffee?"

Gordon was obviously serious about helping as he turned on his heel and headed towards the kitchen without a single complaint. John watched him for a moment before continuing up the stairs.

Gordon was right: they were going to get Virgil back.

And then they were going to show whoever was responsible what happened when you tried to mess with the Tracy family.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you again for your patience and for your support!_

* * *

Scott hated this.

Hated it with a vengeance.

It was only Matt's interference that had stopped Scott from doing something stupid and getting himself arrested. But he couldn't help it; the frustration was building with every irrelevant question that they asked him. He had told them everything already – how many men, what they had been wearing, what they had been armed with, how they had fought… He hadn't realised he had paid that much attention to the attackers when his every sense had been locked on Virgil, but his sub-conscious had stored the details away, preparing him for the questions now coming at him.

He knew he was alienating himself from the cops. He had told them everything he knew, but he wanted answers, wanted to know what they were doing to find his brother. They wouldn't – couldn't – answer him and Scott was frustrated. He never handled frustration well. The cops only saw him as the playboy son of a billionaire: one living a life of luxury on his father's island while they risked their lives day after day going against gangs, thugs and criminals alike. They didn't like him, didn't trust him and Scott knew he would feel the same if their positions were reversed. He wondered how their attitude would change if they knew they were not the only ones risking their lives to save people on a daily basis.

He finally kept his mouth shut, swallowing his pride and anger and calmly recounting all the details again when asked. Again. The cops were not the only ones on the case, though. After speaking with John, Scott knew his brother would be using all the technology at his disposal to try and track Virgil. Neither John nor Gordon would be sitting around doing nothing, and Scott envied them. They could at least do something beneficial to help Virgil. Unlike him.

As Matt hauled one of his officers to the side and had a quiet word about how he had just spoken to Scott, the pilot wished John would hurry up and find something. Any clue, any hint of where Virgil was, would be enough to stop the men questioning him for minute details and actually get out there after his brother.

Scott sighed, sinking back in his seat and running a hand through his hair. He was exhausted. A mixture of fear and anger had woken him from his drug-induced slumber, but he could feel the after-effects. The drugs were still trying to pull him under but he was no use to Virgil if he was asleep. Looking across the room, he saw his father looking harried as he spoke to one of the more superior members of the police force. His body language told his son all Scott needed to know. He wasn't the only one close to snapping.

"How you holding up?"

Scott jumped. Normally, no one was able to sneak up on him. Air Force and International Rescue training coupled with four younger brothers meant he was highly alert to his surroundings. But Matt had managed to not only cross the room, but sit next to him and speak before Scott knew that he was there.

Matt sighed; he knew how rare it was for Scott to be caught off-guard.

"This wasn't your fault, Scott."

"I didn't tell him I was worried about Dad," Scott muttered. "If I had just said something, got him to talk to Dad with me…"

"He still would have left. Scott, none of you boys are good at being cooped up. One of you would have gone. Virgil just happened to be first."

"Dad would have stopped us-"

"Would you have listened?"

"Yes!" Scott stared at Matt. "If Blag's out, I would have kept Virgil safe."

"For how long? The entire following day while your father conducted business meetings? You would have resisted the urge to grab a soda, take a walk, get some fresh air?"

Scott shut his eyes. He knew Matt had a point: eventually, one of them would have left, swearing they would be careful, but leaving the apartment nonetheless. It would have just been a matter of time. The men had been waiting for Virgil; they would have waited a little longer.

Matt put a hand on his shoulder.

"It would have happened, buddy," he said, echoing Scott's thoughts. "Whether it was you, Virgil or your Dad. It would have happened to one of you. There's nothing you could have done to stop it."

"I should have done something!" Scott retorted, shrugging off Matt's hand. He couldn't tell the man how he had frozen, stood there and done nothing while Virgil had been knocked out.

He looked around the room at the cops. The majority had left, heading back to the station with whatever evidence they had managed to gather. But the number remaining told Scott one thing: they were still talking rather than actively searching for Virgil. Tension ran through him and his hand clenched.

"We'll get him back, Scott. Trust me. I know what I'm doing." Matt stood up as he spoke and Scott glanced up at him.

It had been a long time since Scott physically had to look up at Matt. But right now, he felt as lost as he had done back then.

He was supposed to protect his brothers and Virgil had been taken from right under his nose.

He nodded, although the action was forced and jerky. He had trusted Matt to look after and help them before. He could do it again.

With one more reassuring squeeze of his shoulder, Matt moved away, leaving Scott with his troubled thoughts.

He couldn't help thinking about what Virgil might be going through, even now while he sat there. He _knew_ Blag was behind it, even if the police had only made vague connections so far. And he knew what Blag was capable of. Scott took a deep breath. He had saved Virgil from Blag in the past. He could – _would_ – save him now.

He couldn't sit there any longer though. He couldn't listen to the same questions again and again and not lose his temper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father throw his hands up in exasperation and knew he wasn't alone in his feelings.

Scott stood up, taking a step towards the door. No one looked around. He took another step, then quickened his pace. He reached the door, and still no one glanced at him. There were men in the rest of the building; they weren't worried about who might leave the apartment. The remaining cops were examining the apartment, looking for non-existent clues. His father had his back to the door.

Scott slipped out.

As soon as he rounded the first corner, he stopped. There was a guard standing in front of the elevator – something Scott should have predicted. The guard wasn't just stopping people from approaching though. He was stopping Scott from leaving. Scott swore under his breath and ducked back around the corner, leaning against the wall and running a hand through his hair. He refused to go back to the apartment.

Then Scott saw something that made him grin. He didn't need to use the elevator. He didn't even need to round the corner. Instead, he eased open a small window, gaze locked on the fire escape. Checking no one was watching – and hoping the guard couldn't hear him - Scott swung a leg over the ledge and slipped out, balancing precariously on the narrow ledge.

The wind was strong at this height and Scott momentarily wondered if he had gone mad. Then he edged along before swinging himself onto the fire escape.

The fire escaped clanged loudly as Scott scrambled on and he froze, convinced the entire building would have heard him. But there was no flurry of movement and Scott breathed easy again. He began the long descent to the ground, cursing his father for having the penthouse. He was also aware that if no one detected him, he was going to have to climb back up the same way or answer awkward questions.

Scott missed the last rung and dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch before slowly straightening up and staring around. He knew the cops had been examining the area all morning, searching for evidence they could use to discover the identity of Virgil's attackers. But it was clear now – the men had either returned to the station or were still upstairs, dealing with his father. Scott wondered if they had noticed he wasn't there yet.

He moved forward, blinking in the sunlight. It had to be at least mid-day and Scott had been answering questions since early that morning, ever since he had woken up. He tried to quell the rising frustration. The cops had spent hours on stupid questions when they could have been physically searching for Virgil in that time!

But anger wouldn't help him now and Scott took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and rolling his shoulders. He needed to concentrate. He ducked under the tape the police had used to isolate the scene and stared around. Then he dropped to a crouch and started methodically searching the area.

Scott knew the chances were he wouldn't find anything. The cops had swept the area, forensics examining any evidence they found. But it had been the local police who had done the search; Matt's team hadn't yet arrived. Scott didn't trust them – he didn't trust anyone when it came to his brothers' safety.

He started to look himself. He kept seeing flashes of the fight, a stark reminder Virgil had fought for his life in this exact spot. Scott had promised his mother that he would look after the younger ones. Blag had nearly made him break that promise years ago, when Scott couldn't look after himself, let alone anyone else. Finding something was his only clue to locating Virgil – his only chance at not breaking that promise again.

Scott twisted, his gaze searching the ground intently. The only thing apart from the police tape that indicated the fight had happened was the cop car. The police were still waiting for someone to tow it. But as Scott turned, something glinted from under one of the wheels.

He scurried forward, staring at the bullet shell. Everything else had been collected up, but Scott knew this one had been missed because of its position. Stretching forward, he slowly prised it out from under the wheel, holding it up to the light as he stared at it. The sun glinted off it before Scott closed his fingers around it. The police might have taken the rest in order to try and track them, but Scott wasn't handing this one over. He knew someone who would be able to trace the shell more effectively than the police.

"Hold on, Virg," Scott muttered to himself, "I'm coming.

TBTBTB

Virgil groaned, his eyes flickering. He opened them just enough to acknowledge a dim light before he shut them again.

A few moments later and he was able to repeat the process, keeping them open for a few minutes. On his third attempt, Virgil managed to take note of his surroundings.

They didn't fill him with confidence. Corrugated metal ridges pressed into his spine and Virgil looked around, realising he was in a large, metal crate. Instantly, he thought of shipping containers and froze, his heart thudding hard. But there was no movement and Virgil breathed again, convinced he wasn't being shipped off to an unknown continent.

Attempting to shift position, Virgil cursed when he realised his hands were suspended above him. They were still cuffed, only this time, they were attached to an iron ring embedded in the wall. It looked the sort that animals could be tethered to and Virgil arched his back, trying to see if he could break loose. A few attempts quickly revealed the futility of that action. Frustrated, Virgil banged his head on the wall, remembering a second too late that it was metal. The bang echoed around the crate, followed by him swearing. It would have been comical if he hadn't been trapped.

Twisting the best he could, Virgil tried to see anything that would give him an indication of his surroundings. His gaze didn't get any further than his own arm. Virgil stared at the crook of his elbow, trying to remember when his sleeve had been torn. He didn't remember it happening in the fight and he stared at the dried blood, attempting to piece it together. Eventually, it came to him.

He had been drugged, at least twice.

After forcing him onto the plane, the men had bound Virgil to a chair in such a way that movement wasn't an option, let alone escape. There had been nothing he could do as the man with the Russian accent had pulled out a silver case and opened it. Virgil had tensed, determined to make it hard for them, but hadn't been able to stop the man from sliding a needle into his arm. Considering everything had gone black after that, Virgil could only assume it had been a sedative of sorts.

They were still airborne when he had regained consciousness. Virgil had kept still, the gag preventing him from saying anything even if he had wanted to. He had cautiously looked around as much as he could, watching the group of men on the far side of the plane closely. They were deep in conversation and one glanced over at him. Virgil knew they were talking about him. But he realised too late they had seen him watching them and once again, there had been nothing he could do to stop them from drugging him.

Virgil was convinced hours must have passed since then. They would have had to land and then transport him to wherever he now was. If they were keeping under the radar, it wouldn't have been a process that could have been rushed. It would have alarmed him that he had lost so much time if it wasn't for one comforting thought. The longer he had been missing meant the closer his brothers would be to finding him. Virgil had no doubt that John was already tracking him somehow (this wasn't the first time Virgil regretted taking his watch off!) and Scott was coming up with a plan of action.

If there was something Virgil had learnt over the years, it was not to mess with his big brothers.

But Virgil had no intention of waiting to be rescued.

Virgil twisted the best he could, staring up at the cuffs holding his hands. He sighed. Any hope that they were old and rusty vanished when the gleaming metal reflected in the dim light. But wishful thinking had helped Virgil in the past – he was the pilot of Thunderbird Two, after all – and Virgil hoped that perhaps the iron ring or the links securing the cuffs to the ring would be weak. Placing his feet flat on the floor, he took a deep breath and attempted to stand up.

For a split second, he made it halfway.

But by the next second, reality caught up with him and his balance was thrown as his upper body refused to stretch up. His feet shot from under him and he crashed back down with a gasp. His wrists stung from where the metal had dug into him and it took Virgil a moment to catch his breath. That had hurt!

The pain didn't matter, though. Whether they were saving the world or playing pranks on one another, nothing stopped a Tracy when they had an idea in their head. Virgil fully planned to escape and one failed attempt was not going to stop him from trying.

Virgil reckoned nearly two hours had passed before he was forced to take a reality check and admit that positive thinking might not be enough this time. His body ached from the numerous attempts, his wrists bleeding from where the cuffs had cut in.

It was more than just the physical pain of trying to escape though. The after-effects of having been forcibly sedated more than once were taking their toll and Virgil's head pounded even as his stomach rolled. It was also a reminder that it had been hours since he had last eaten or drunk and he was losing strength, fast.

Once again losing his balance and hitting the floor, Virgil groaned. He knew he had to straighten up, to try again, but it was too much effort right now.

He lent back against the side of the crate, attempting to catch his breath as he forced himself to examine his options. Unless whoever was behind this planned on letting him starve to death (Virgil quickly pushed the thought from his mind with a shudder), they would have to come in at some point. They would have to free his hands if he was going to eat and drink, or if they planned to move him. That would be his chance and Virgil decided to save his strength until then.

Virgil curled his legs into his chest, attempting to get comfortable. There was nothing to occupy his mind other than dark thoughts about what was happening and his body ached from the fight, being bound and his attempts to break free. He was cold and hungry, but he shut his eyes and gave into his body's demands that he got some rest. He didn't fall asleep, but he dozed, allowing his mind to escape his prison even if he couldn't physically.

He had no idea how long he slept for. But as he heard the sound of a door grating open, Virgil jerked back into alertness, groaning as he realised how stiff he was. His arms and neck were particularly bad, but Virgil guessed that his comfort wasn't his captors' priority.

Dusk was falling if the light spilling into the container was any indication. Virgil swallowed nervously, realising he had been missing for almost a day now. This wasn't just some random kidnapping; this had been planned. Anything spontaneous would leave clues and John would have already been able to find him.

Virgil sat up straighter as a figure approached him. He examined the man visually, hoping for an indication of who he was or who he worked for. Virgil didn't recognise him; this man hadn't been on the plane or one of the ones who had attacked him in the street. His bulk coupled with the dull look in his small, mean eyes gave Virgil enough to go on – this man was nothing more than the hired help. Virgil wouldn't get any answers from him.

Virgil watched carefully as the man approached, attempting to keep his expression neutral as he pulled a key from his belt. Virgil remained still as the man unlocked the handcuffs. He let his wrists fall into his lap, massaging them for a second. Then he reacted.

Jumping up, he forced himself to ignore the dizziness and lurched forward. He rammed his shoulder into the man's midriff, sending him stumbling backwards. Dropping back to a crouch, Virgil swept the man's legs out from under him and picked up the handcuffs while the man fell heavily. He wasted no time cuffing the man, grabbing the key and darting out of his reach. He slipped out of the container, then put his shoulder to the door and heaved with all the strength remaining to him. The door shut and Virgil quickly dropped the lock back in place before stepping back, satisfied.

Then he looked around.

Containers were everywhere, confirming his earlier thoughts that he was in a shipping yard. Virgil could only stare, having no idea what direction to move in to get out of the maze. He heard a muffled shout and the sound of fists pounding against the door and knew he had to move; his prisoner was going to bring everyone running if he kept up that racket. Wishing he had knocked him out, Virgil set off at a run.

He didn't think about where he was going, but focused on ensuring the containers were providing him with cover. He knew if anyone was on top of any of the crates, they would be able to find him easily and so Virgil kept moving. It didn't take long before a stitch burnt down one side and his breathing came in short, desperate pants. While he normally had the fitness required in order to be a member of International Rescue, he was still trying to get the sedative out of his system. Virgil knew he couldn't keep this pace up.

He slowed down. There was no sound of pursuit coming from behind him and he needed to conserve his energy if he was going to make it out of this alive. Slowing to a walk, he tried to keep his breathing under control so that it didn't give him away and to keep his steps silent. The feeling of entrapment pressed down on him and he had to force himself to remain calm. He could all too clearly remember Scott's fear of enclosed spaces for a while when they were young and was beginning to understand how his brother felt.

Virgil glanced up at one of the containers, looking for a hint about where he was. White lettering was stencilled onto the side and Virgil stepped back, attempting to get a better look. Eventually, he could read what was printed and his eyes widened in surprise.

 _Norfolk Southern._

He knew that name. He had seen it before, printed in stark white lettering just like this. He had gone to work with his father more than once as a child and he remembered clearest the days that his dad took him out of the offices. A trip to a transport yard was one such experience; the monorail parts had fascinated the budding engineer, even at such a tender age. Virgil knew where he was.

He was in Kansas.

These men – whoever they were – had brought him home.

The sound of voices made him jump and Virgil stared around, disorientated. He suddenly felt there was a lot more to his abduction than he had originally believed. Taking one last glance at the crate, Virgil turned and fled back into the maze of containers.

The voices dictated which way he went – the opposite way to where the men seemed to be. He could only assume that they had found the man he had left locked up and even now, were searching for him. Virgil knew these men were not to be underestimated; they had taken him in New York, right outside his own apartment. They had got him this far. Virgil knew they were professionals.

Virgil looked over his shoulder as he took a corner at a skid. He instantly crashed into something solid and felt hands grasping for him. He tore free, using his momentum to change direction and speed off again. But he knew the game was up; the men knew where he was now.

He didn't make it more than a couple of steps before something slammed into his shoulder. Virgil ignored the pain, until a sharp current shot through his entire body and he dropped with a cry, trembling as the shocks continued. He could taste blood from where he had bitten his tongue and he couldn't control his shaking hands in order to pull the dart from his shoulder.

Eventually, the taser stopped. Virgil remained where he was, panting in a desperate attempt to control his twitching limbs. He could feel consciousness leaving him and knew that the shocks had pushed him over the edge.

But just before he blacked out, someone came to a stop over him. Virgil was just able to make out their face as he passed out.

It was a face he had never wanted to see again.


	9. Chapter 9

_A massive thank you for those of you engaging with this story! I hope you continue to enjoy it._

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?! You can't just go off alone, Scott! Not now! Not after…"

Scott knew his father was thinking of Virgil. He shrugged, though. "With this many cops around? C'mon, Dad, I can take care of myself…"

"So can your brother and look what's happened!"

Scott slowly exhaled, trying to keep his temper. He was getting closer and closer to losing control completely.

The shell was the only thing he had found. But he had kept it, and made it back up the fire escape without being seen. He knew that was the real reason why his father was angry. If he could slip past the men, then who else could?

Scott didn't think anyone was coming, though. They had got what they came for when they had taken Virgil. Scott himself had been out there, and had frozen. The men could have killed or taken him as well, but they hadn't. Virgil had been the target: they had only wanted one Tracy.

It wasn't a comforting thought.

Scott knew he hadn't thought through leaving. His father had noted his absence and the police had noticed when he returned. They had been furious and Scott knew it was for the same reason why his father was angry now: it had shown up their security.

Matt had stepped in, pulling rank to settle the matter. Most of the cops had left, apart from those guarding father and son. His dad had refused to have them in the apartment, though. Matt had agreed – they couldn't talk openly or pool their resources if the cops were inside. He had also warned Scott about pulling another stunt like that. Now, however, the doors were guarded but the apartment was blissfully quiet.

Scott scowled. It shouldn't be this quiet. Virgil should be here, saying something, doing something to break the silence. His hands clenched by his sides and he was once again forced to take a deep breath, feeling his brother's absence even more now the apartment was empty.

Then Scott realised his father was still attempting to scold him like a teenager caught sneaking out.

"Dad," Scott interrupted, "I had to do something."

"You should have left it to the police."

"What good are they doing? They've been here all day and still have no idea what they are dealing with. They're still hoping it was amateurs who just happened to come across Virgil Tracy. You know that's not true."

"I know."

"I- what?" Scott had been prepared for his father to argue back. Ever since he was a child he had been compared to the man. It wasn't often they clashed, but when they did, Scott realised there was a certain amount of truth in the observation. He _was_ like his dad, which was why he knew neither of them would back down when they had conflicting thoughts. It threw him off that his father had agreed with him.

"You think I'm not thinking the same as you? That I want to tell these men to stop wasting their time and that we know who is behind it. But I also want them to find a lead, something pointing elsewhere, because we know what it will mean for Virgil if we are right."

Scott stared. He thought his father had dismissed the idea that it was Blag, despite Scott knowing it was the truth. His dad stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"You know I don't believe in coincidences, Scott. I know who it is. Just as you do. And Matt. But until we have proof, until we have evidence, our fears can't be allowed to get the better of us."

"The city was on alert because of him," Scott muttered. "Why won't they accept that he is the one behind it?"

"It's _because_ the city is on alert," Jeff sighed. He moved away and sat on the sofa. Scott stood in front of him and, as his father looked up, was struck by how old the man was looking.

"What do you mean?"

"They don't think he can just waltz in and kidnap someone when they are looking for him, Scott. Even if someone was working for him, the cops need evidence. They don't work off hunches and theories."

Scott sank down onto the sofa next to his dad, dragging a hand over his face. His brother was missing and Scott felt he wasn't doing anything to find him.

"I _know_ it's him, Dad," Scott said quietly. But knowing who was behind his brother's disappearance wasn't helping. No one believed him and no one was tracking Virgil down. His hand slipped into his pocket, closing around the shell. It was cold under his touch and Scott clenched his fist until he felt the metal dig into his palm. The pain didn't help.

They had come to the mainland because his nightmares were getting worse. Instead of helping, Scott felt he was now trapped in the worst one of all, with no way of waking up.

"We'll get him back, Scott," his father promised. Scott nodded curtly, aware that the man was watching him closely. He knew he must look as bad as his dad, helplessness written across his expression and obvious in the slump of his shoulders.

His cell ringing broke through the silence that had settled over the pair of them. Scott glanced at the caller I.D and switched to video.

"Hey."

Scott shifted position so his father could see the screen as well.

"Are you alone?" John's tone was cautious and Scott knew he hadn't used the watches in case the cops were still with them. His father answered before Scott could.

"You can speak openly, John."

"Well," John said, his gaze flickering to one side. Scott knew he was looking at whatever he had discovered. It fuelled his frustration that his brother was on an island hundreds of miles away and was doing more to help than Scott was able to do on top of the crime scene.

"I've managed to ha… I mean…." He coloured, looking away again. Scott saw his father roll his eyes.

"I know you hack, John. I've known that since you were twelve."

If it had been any other situation, Scott would have laughed. It took a lot to fluster John.

"Anyway," John cleared his throat, "I've got access to all the cameras in the city. Not just CCTV – shops, rich people's personal surveillance. Anything that records, I'm looking at it."

"Five doesn't have that sort of technology," Jeff said, frowning. Technically, it did but they had never utilised it. They had never needed to. It wasn't set up to do what John was currently doing.

"NASA does though. They keep it quiet but the F.B.I sanctioned it as a way of tracking terrorists."

"You hacked NASA?" Scott hoped he didn't sound too impressed.

"I helped write the security programs for NASA, of course I hacked it." John shrugged as if it was no big deal. Scott watched as their father opened his mouth, a rebuke clear, before he shut it again and shook his head. He obviously didn't want to know where John drew the line.

"I tracked the car though," John said, his expression serious. "They went to a small air-strip about fifty miles away. The owners are on the other side of the world, there's no one else about."

"That's where they are?" It made sense. Airstrips, no matter how small, would have outbuildings, places that could easily be used to hold someone prisoner. The Tracys were hardly the same family Blag had taken on years ago – he wouldn't know how quickly they could track him. Scott was halfway off the sofa before John spoke again.

"No."

"No?"

"They're not there." John looked frustrated and angry. This was the man who never let stress get to him. Scott knew how hard John was finding this. "A small plane left."

"Where did it go?" Scott heard his own voice as if from a distance, sounding hollow and flat.

"I don't know," John admitted, not holding Scott's gaze.

"You can track a car but you don't know where the plane went?"

"Scott." His name was a warning and Scott realised his dad was watching him closely. He grimaced. He hadn't intended to sound so accusing. John had got further than the rest of them, after all. His brother didn't appear to have noticed; he looked too annoyed at himself.

"So Virgil could be anywhere?"

"No." John visibly pulled himself together. "There is still a chance he is at the hangar.

John's tone indicated he didn't think it likely and Scott agreed with him.

"The plane was only small," John continued, "I'll send you the details to check, Scott, but it only has the capacity for a short-haul flight. Virg might not be in New York, but I know the plane went west and with that sort of engine, the furthest it could have got is Utah."

"Kansas."

"What?"

Scott locked eyes with John. "Virgil's in Kansas. It's closer, isn't it? The plane would have made it there."

"Yeah, but why-"

"Because he's twisted." Scott was looking at his phone, but he wasn't seeing it. His mind was trapped in the past.

"He could go anywhere," John said hesitantly.

Scott focused on his brother again. "Exactly. He'll go back to where it started."

"That's enough." His father's voice was sharp and Scott jumped. "It's one thing theorising who is behind it. But we can't chase unconfirmed leads just because you have a feeling, Scott. Virgil doesn't have time for us to be looking in the wrong place."

He reached out, pulling the cell from Scott's unresisting hand.

"John, I need you to find that plane."

"I'll get Gordon on it."

"No, you-"

"I'm coming over, Dad."

"John-"

John had clearly had enough of sitting around, though.

"You need me, Dad. The police don't have a clue and you know it. I'm coming." John disconnected before his father could respond and Scott let a shadow of a smile cross his face. John hadn't given their father a chance to forbid him from coming. His brother had always had a way of getting around obstacles.

"He has a point," Scott said, taking his phone back. He didn't want his father to call John back just to tell him no. "We need him."

"That's what worries me."

This time, it was his father's phone ringing that prevented Scott from answering. For a moment, Scott didn't think his dad was going to answer it, but then the man glanced at the caller ID and picked up.

"Nicole? Wha- No, slow down. Take a deep breath, I can't hear a word you are saying. What's the matter?"

Scott's heart pounded uncomfortably hard as he stared at his father. The colour was draining from Jeff's face as he listened and he murmured a few words of reassurance, hanging up after promising to be in touch first thing in the morning. He sat, staring into nothing, as if he had forgotten his son's presence.

"Dad?"

"Matt never made it home." His voice was flat and Scott shivered.

"What happened?"

"Nicole doesn't know. He called her as he left us. He should have been back over an hour ago. She's just had a call from the cops to say they found his car abandoned."

"We need to get over there…"

"No, Scott. She's got the police there now. We'll only get in the way…"

"But…"

"Damnit, Scott, listen to me! The cops are there. Virgil needs us here. What if someone tries to get in touch and we're driving across the state? There's nothing we can do for Matt until we know more. Focus on your brother."

Scott scowled. His every thought was on his brother! But his father stood and stalked through to the bedroom, the door closing behind him. Scott let him go. His father didn't realise how well his son knew him. He might try and hide his emotions, but Scott knew every time he turned away, it was because he was struggling to cope. Scott stared at the closed door, his own emotions churning.

Then he stood, crossing the room and letting himself out onto the balcony. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had confronted his father here.

Staring up at the heavens, Scott sighed.

"Keep him safe," he whispered, his hands clenching onto the railings so hard his knuckles turned white.

If there was one thing Scott Tracy hated, it was the feeling of helplessness. He hoped John hurried up and arrived. Not just because he could help with the investigation, but because Scott needed him. He couldn't do this alone.

TBTBTB

Virgil came to the conclusion that regaining consciousness while realising he was bound was getting old. This time, he was sitting on a chair, his arms twisted behind it and bound there. An experimental tug revealed the handcuffs; the cold metal a taunting reminder he wouldn't be able to break free. His ankles had also been secured to the chair. He was stuck.

Virgil intended to make the most of being conscious this time. He had the feeling his captors were cautious and were more than prepared to knock him out again rather than give him the chance to escape. He looked around, but the room he was in offered no clues, or aid. The walls were white-washed, the floor as white as the ceiling. The only furniture was the chair he was sitting on. It was so stark and cold that Virgil shivered, and not because of the temperature. It was unnerving.

He hadn't been awake for long when he heard a key scraping in a lock. He couldn't see the door – it was behind him and he couldn't twist that far. He hated not being able to watch his back. It didn't take long for a man to walk in, though. It was the same man from before, the man from the airfield. Despite longing to punch him, it was not the person Virgil had been expecting to see.

"Where's Blag?" He hoped Scott would be proud of how steady his voice was despite his pounding heart. He didn't _want_ to see Blag – the man had haunted his nightmares for years, after all. But he knew who was behind this and he refused to play the man's games. He wasn't a terrified child this time. He was a grown man who dealt with horrors the world could only dream of on a daily basis.

He was also hoping that his family were already tracking him and would be bursting in any moment so he didn't have to do this on his own.

The man smirked, his gaze focused on the door. Virgil heard it open, heard someone come to a stop behind him. He remained still, though, not struggling or looking around. He knew who was standing there. Instead, Virgil focused on keeping his breathing steady. Hands rested on his shoulders, fingers digging in sharply. He tensed. The position was a twisted reflection of the way his father would sometimes comfort him. But Blag's grip was painful and Virgil winced as the pressure increased.

"You know they're coming for me?" Virgil forced out through gritted teeth, hoping his voice remained steady. There was a low chuckle before the pressure disappeared. Blag finally came to stand in front of him.

Virgil swallowed as he looked up at the man, seeing him properly for the first time in years. He hadn't changed; his face was the same one that had haunted his dreams for years and plagued his brother still. But Virgil had grown used to concealing his emotions and he was not going to show he was afraid. He glared instead.

"I'm counting on it." Blag smirked, leaning against the wall and staring at Virgil. Virgil refused to look away. Eventually, Blag turned his attention onto the Russian. "Virgil here has brothers, just like you. But, unlike you, they tend to look out for each other."

Virgil didn't know, or care, what Blag was referring to. But the man wasn't done yet.

"Chevok set his brother up. Made him take the fall for all the crimes he had committed. His brother was in the cell next to mine for years. What do you think, Virgil? Think Scott would take the fall for you? He's done it before, after all. You know it was only because of you it all happened in the first place-,"

"Save your breath, Blag. I'm not a child." Virgil was not going to admit it had taken over a year with a counsellor before he had stopped blaming himself for what had happened. His mind was racing, though. He had thought there was something familiar about Chevok. Now he knew. As soon as they were old enough, John had looked up who was imprisoned with Blag. Virgil had never understood why, just assuming it was John's need to know everything about anyone, but it hadn't stopped him from glancing at the images. Chevok was the spitting image of his brother. Blag's smirk widened.

"No, you're not. Ironic, really. I could never reach you when you were a child. There was always a brother there to protect you. And now you are an adult and look where we find ourselves. What's the matter, Virgil? Did they get bored of protecting you?"

"You obviously haven't become bored of spouting the same old crap as before. What is it you want?"

"I want your brother back, what else?"

Virgil stared. They had always believed that Blag was mad. His casual tone sent shivers down Virgil's spine. Blag must have seen his confusion though, as he rolled his eyes.

"I never intended to let him live. Your father refused to give me what I wanted. Scott should have died and no one would have crossed me again. Everything I was building was ruined because of you. So now, it's my turn. I'm going to rip your family apart."

"You're missing the point where we are no longer children," Virgil said, hoping to sound uninterested. "We can't be intimidated like that anymore, and you're completely crazy if you think you can take Scott again. He'll kill you first."

Virgil wasn't even trying to sound threatening. He just believed in his big brother and knew how deep Scott's anger ran when it came to Blag. Scott wouldn't hesitate. As soon as Blag was in range, Scott would fire.

To Virgil's discomfort, Blag smiled.

"Not if he knows that will get you killed."

"Oh? You're sure about that, are you?" Virgil was bluffing, and he had a horrible feeling Blag knew it. His brother was stupidly heroic at times, and Virgil knew full well Scott would walk straight into danger if it meant keeping him safe. It made Virgil want to punch him at times. But he could read Blag's expression and knew the man was also aware that Scott would still do anything for his family.

"I am. You're right, you have grown up. You can handle yourself and maybe your brother knows that. He's also an idiot and will do anything to save those he cares about."

"Only I get to insult him," Virgil interrupted. His palms were sweaty and it was a struggle to keep his breathing even. Blag was planning something, he was certain of it.

Blag ignored him. "What if it isn't just you though, Virgil? Would Scott risk taking me out when more than one person would pay the price? Two lives for one. Even Scott must realise those numbers aren't in his favour."

"What are you talking about?" Virgil's voice was quiet and he knew he sounded nervous. Blag was grinning, looking as if he had already won.

"You'll find out."

"Tell me!"

Blag stepped forward. Virgil didn't realise he had been struggling in his restraints, but he forced himself to sit still as Blag approached. Blag's hand slipped into his pocket and Virgil flinched, fearing he was about to pull out a weapon. But if Blag saw the flinch, he ignored it in favour of pulling out a cell. He pressed a few buttons before turning it so that Virgil could see. Virgil took one glance and swore, resuming his struggles.

"Let him go." Virgil's voice was filled with venom but Blag chuckled.

"Or what? What are you going to do, Virgil? Glare at me? You never did do a good job of saving Scott, did you?" Blag shook his head, sneering. "You're not the only ones who caused my downfall. You never found Scott, after all. Someone else did. And I intend to make all those responsible pay."

"Blag…"

"Go on, Virgil. Beg for him."

It wasn't his pride that made Virgil snap his mouth shut. It was the fact he knew it would do no good. It didn't matter whether he begged or yelled, cursed or threatened. Blag would never give him what he wanted, regardless of what Virgil said. Blag just wanted the satisfaction of hearing Virgil beg. Instead, Virgil stayed silent, shooting Blag a look that would make a sane man quail.

Blag chuckled, pocketing the phone and moving back towards the door. Chevok followed silently, but the door slammed behind them. The noise echoed around the room. Virgil listened to the key turning again before shaking himself in frustration.

Not only was he completely stuck, he had no idea what he was supposed to do to get Blag to let Matt go.


	10. Chapter 10

Despite his father's efforts, Scott refused to rest. He couldn't. They had come to the mainland because of his nightmares: what would plague him now one of them was coming true? John had left Tracy Island less than two hours after their conversation and Scott was adamant he was going to be awake to greet his little brother.

Their father might appear to disapprove of John leaving the island, but Scott knew it was a front. He could see the relief in the man's eyes and knew the same look was reflected in his own. John had a calm and logical way of looking at things; he would be a natural negotiator in their dealings with the police, unlikely to rile them up the way Scott had been. John would also have more direct access to the case by being here. If illegally hacking the police database was what it took to get a lead on Virgil, then their father wouldn't protest.

As soon as John confirmed he was on his way, a police escort had been organised. Scott offered no arguments, grateful that another younger brother wouldn't be traversing the city on his own. While Scott was certain Blag got what he was after when he had taken Virgil, he wasn't prepared to risk a brother on that assumption.

He ignored his father's hints that he should rest and instead studied the information John had sent over.

It only took another hour before his father finally crashed. As soon as Jeff stumbled into his room and onto the bed, Scott stopped what he was doing. He wasn't getting anywhere; watching the same CCTV clip four times in a row wasn't revealing anything new. His eyes burned with tiredness, but Scott refused to close them. He moved to the balcony, staring out into the city below.

Virgil was out there somewhere while Scott was stuck watching security footage. The urge to punch something grew stronger and Scott wasn't sure how much longer he could stay in the penthouse. He had wanted to go straight out to the hangar, but his father had pointed out the obvious flaw: how to explain they knew where to go? They also couldn't do this just the two of them and Scott had reluctantly agreed to wait for John. His brother had promised to monitor the hangar in case of movement, not to mention come up with a plausible explanation to get them there.

It wasn't _just_ about Virgil anymore. There had still been no word from Matt and Scott knew there wouldn't be. Blag had known where to wait for Virgil: he would know where to ambush Matt. Scott hoped it meant the cops finally took them seriously about Blag now - both Virgil and Matt disappearing on the day he broke out was a connection that couldn't be ignored. John said he would pass on an anonymous tip but Scott was beginning to understand the police process: examining everything from every plausible angle before reacting. They would be too slow.

Slamming his hands against the railings, Scott turned and went back inside. He paused, then moved to Virgil's room. It hurt pushing open the door, knowing his brother wouldn't be sprawled across the bed, dead to the world and unwilling to wake for anything before morning. Still, Scott made himself enter and winced when he saw the mess. It wasn't even Virgil's mess, but the police. It had been painful watching them methodically searching Virgil's room, as if expecting to uncover a vital clue. Matt had forcibly removed Scott from the room when someone had suggested it was a publicity stunt.

"Where are you?" Scott whispered, leaning against the doorframe and staring despondently into the room. A faint golden hue washed over the walls and Scott knew dawn had arrived. He hoped a new day would mean answers, a clue, anything to lead him to Virgil.

His phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket, starting Scott from his thoughts. Scott quickly connected, not wanting it to wake his father. But some of the tension had fled as soon as he saw the caller ID.

"John?"

"We're on our way up."

"Dad's asleep," Scott replied, hearing the unspoken question in John's voice about why he was talking so quietly. They exchanged a few more words before hanging up and Scott assumed by the ` _we`_ that John was still with his escort. Scott left Virgil's room and unlocked the main door. John appeared at the end of the corridor and Scott stared. John wasn't alone, but it wasn't the cops with him.

It was Gordon.

Scott stepped out, making sure the door was on the latch and moving towards his brothers. John reached out and clasped his arm as soon as he was in reach, a wordless offer of comfort, reassurance and shared anguish, but Scott barely noticed.

"What are you doing here?"

"You think I was going to stay at home and just sit there, waiting for something to happen?" Gordon glared at him, his expression challenging.

"Gordon, it's…"

"Don't you _dare_ say dangerous. You think I don't know that? He's my brother too, Scott. I'm staying, unless you would rather I headed back across town on my own?"

It was a low blow and judging by the look in Gordon's eyes, he knew it. But it was obvious he had no intention of backing down and Scott sighed. Reaching out, he cuffed Gordon over the head and led the way back into the apartment. He gestured for the brothers to enter his room, shutting the door behind them so they didn't disturb their father. John put down an armful of bags that Scott hadn't noticed.

"Has there been any word?" John asked quietly and Scott shook his head.

"Something else happened though," he said. The ashen complexions of his brothers revealed they couldn't take much more of this. They obviously hadn't slept either and Scott wished he could say something that would help. But there was only one person who could make the situation better right now, and it wasn't Scott.

"Matt never made it home."

Gordon swore, leaving the room. Through the window, the remaining brothers saw him step out onto the balcony. Scott watched in silence, noting the tension running through Gordon's body. It was unlike his brother not to vocalise how he was feeling.

"He's not coping with this, is he?"

John shook his head. "He remembers enough to know how much danger Virg is in. But not the details; his mind is filling in the blanks for him. You know what Gordon's imagination is like."

"Reality is bad enough," Scott muttered. A shudder ran through him just thinking about it. John grimaced, but said nothing. Scott knew why though; there was nothing to say that could make this any better.

John reached for his bags. As John started setting up, Scott realised he couldn't see an item of clothing amongst all the bags. They were full of wires and monitors. He could only watch as John slid to the floor, surrounding himself with technology and turning on his laptop. He looked up, an eyebrow raised at Scott's expression.

"I'd explain, but you look ready to drop. Go and get some sleep, Scott. Gords and I can take it from here. I'll wake you if anything moves."

Scott knew John was right, but he couldn't bring himself to go. He knew John was watching him the way he had been watching Gordon, and that his body language betrayed him just as Gordon's had.

"If I find something," John said slowly, "what will you do?"

"Get our brother back!"

"How are you going to do that when you are falling asleep? C'mon, Scott, you know Virg will kick your ass if he finds you haven't been looking after yourself."

Scott winced, knowing no matter how he argued, John would have a logical answer. Scott looked out at Gordon again.

"Scott," John said, "I'll deal with Gordon. We're going to find Virgil, and Matt, and bring them home. Then I'm going to dump you in it for not getting enough rest and sit back and watch the show as Virgil flips at you. Don't give me any more leverage."

Scott didn't want to go; he wanted to be doing something. He also knew John was right and his building headache wouldn't help matters. He stumbled from the room and stopped. There were only three rooms. His father was in one, his brothers in another. There was no way Scott was taking Virgil's room.

He crashed onto the sofa, kicking off his shoes. His body relaxed, the tension ebbing away as Scott gave into his exhaustion. Within a few moments, he was asleep.

The sun had fully risen when the nightmares jolted him awake again. The visions had left him trembling but Scott couldn't deny his head felt clearer. He sat up, glancing towards his father's room. The door was shut and Scott hoped he was still resting. The man had looked drawn and weary before he had finally crashed and Scott wanted to spare his brothers that sight.

He pushed open the door to his room. John and Gordon were both sitting on the floor. Scott was struck with how similar the two of them looked. Normally, Scott could only see the differences between his calmest and most energetic brothers. But looking at them now, he was reminded of how much Gordon had idolised John when he was young and it seemed a few traits had rubbed off. It was obvious that – unlike Scott – Gordon was actually helping John.

Not wanting to interrupt them, Scott moved to the kitchen, not returning until he had three mugs of coffee. The movement distracted Gordon and he stretched out with a groan, gratefully taking the offered drink. Gordon nudged John, making him look up. Scott handed over John's mug and perched on the edge of the bed, cradling his own.

"How're you going to explain this when the cops arrive?"

"I'll find a way," John muttered distractedly. Scott felt a stab of guilt; John looked exhausted.

"Have you-,"

"Found anything? No. There's been no movement at the hangar. I don't know if there is no one there, it's completely unrelated or that…"

"They are still there," Scott finished quietly, staring at the screens in front of him. He didn't think Blag would be sloppy. But the man didn't know who he was dealing with, not this time around. He wouldn't have bet on the technology they had at their disposal.

"It's a long shot."

"Who cares?" Gordon sat up straighter, eyes glinting despite his tiredness. Scott knew Gordon had figured out that he intended to check out that hangar without waiting for the cops to believe their story. He also knew it wouldn't matter if he forbade Gordon from coming. Gordon wanted to help and Scott couldn't fault his brother for that. He also knew he couldn't do this alone. He was used to having Virgil by his side in dangerous situations, but with Virgil missing, Scott knew Gordon would watch his back.

"Wait a minute." John also straightened, staring between the two of them. "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"That we go to this hangar and find out if our brother is there? Yes." Scott drained his mug as he spoke, his remaining tiredness fleeing in the face of a plan of action.

He wasn't going to sit here any longer and wait for other people to try and find his brother. Virgil was his best friend as much as his sibling and Scott fully intended to get his brother back. If that meant planning a raid on a location that could be a dead-end, then it beat sitting around doing nothing.

One look at his brothers' faces and Scott knew he wouldn't be going alone.

Scott slipped off the bed and onto the floor, ordering John to tell him everything he knew. While their father slept, three Tracy brothers started scheming about how they were going to get the fourth back.

TBTBTB

The hot trickle of blood running down his wrist made Virgil groan. He had been struggling against the cuffs for hours. Deep down, he knew it was pointless and he wasn't going to break free. But he had to do something. He had to escape, not just for his own sake, but for Scott and Matt as well.

Matt had been bound and unconscious in the image Blag had shown him. Virgil wondered if he was being moved the same way Virgil had been, even being brought to the same place. It gave him hope. It would also mean more people would be searching; Virgil was certain that John would already be searching for him and would be on the lookout for unexplained movements. Transporting Matt would count as such a thing.

Virgil didn't want to admit it would also mean he didn't have to do this alone.

But them being together added to the danger. Scott wouldn't be able to call Blag's bluff if the man could prove in one action he had them both. Normally, Virgil could predict Scott's reactions, probably better than the man himself. This time, however, there was an element present that Virgil wasn't used to dealing with from his big brother.

 _Fear._

It didn't matter that Scott tried to hide it or said he was fine. Virgil knew he would be terrified. He had to get out of here before he was responsible for his brother coming face to face with his nightmare. Scott had always looked out for him, and Blag's words about it being his fault struck a chord deep in Virgil that he thought he had dealt with years ago. If he had been quicker that day, if he hadn't been so forgetful, then none of this would have happened.

Virgil shook his head. He refused to think like that. He had spoken to someone, he had dealt with these thoughts _years_ ago. He would be doing Blag's work for him if he let his mind be clouded by doubt. He had to focus on getting out and getting home; everything else was irrelevant right now.

There were no windows in the room. Virgil had no idea how long he had been missing for. He was starving, though. When was the last time he had eaten? When was the last time he had done anything other than be manhandled and used against his family?

Suddenly furious, Virgil wrenched against his bindings, desperate to be free. It would have been easier if he could get some leverage behind his struggles but, with his feet also tied, he was stuck.-

He only stopped, panting, when the chair threatened to topple. He would not degrade himself by being stuck on the ground, especially when he knew that Blag would make the most of it. He hadn't seen or heard anything since Blag had left, but Virgil knew Blag wouldn't have left him unguarded. His previous escape from the containers showed that being bound was not enough of a deterrent to stop Virgil escaping.

For once, Virgil wouldn't mind someone thinking less of him. He gave one last futile tug and stopped. Hurting himself wasn't going to help. Neither would spending his energy to no avail, especially considering his efforts had left him feeling dizzy and feeling the lack of food even more.

Instead, Virgil tried to think about what his brothers would do. Scott would just glare and everyone would fall over themselves to untie him. John would have a smart answer on the tip of his tongue and would make a run for it while his captors tried to figure out what he had said. Gordon would no doubt annoy them all so much they would decide that he wasn't worth the effort and Alan… Virgil stopped there. It was bad enough considering how the others would react, but he refused to think about his youngest brother being in this sort of trouble. Not only because they had always tried to look out for him, but because Alan didn't remember the horrors Blag had inflicted on their family the first time around.

Virgil envied him.

Memories of their first encounter with the mad-man were bad enough. Virgil was not relishing the chance to make new ones.

A key turning in the lock made Virgil crane around as best he could. He didn't say anything though; he didn't want his voice to betray him. Blag entered with two of his men. They were wheeling something on a trolley and Virgil frowned when it came into view. It was a vid-screen, similar to the ones they had on the island, just without the added technology Virgil was used to.

"I hope you're sitting comfortably."

"Where's Matt? What have you done with him?" Virgil refused to be baited by Blag's mocking manner. He ignored the screen, knowing Blag wanted him to ask about it. Virgil refused to give the man what he wanted and focused on Matt instead.

Blag's smile faltered for a second and he sneered. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Tell me."

"You're in no position to make demands." Blag breathed heavily for a moment, his expression thunderous. "I preferred you as the whiny brat you were. Your friend is on his way here. Happy now?"

Virgil inwardly sighed in relief. It increased their chances of being found if they were together. But it also meant that Blag couldn't keep him in suspense over what was happening to his friend.

He didn't see Blag move until his head snapped to one side, his lip bleeding from the force of the man's blow.

"I asked you a question."

Glaring, Virgil still refused to answer. Blag raised his hand again but then caught himself. Shaking his head, he relaxed. Virgil suppressed a shudder; a calm Blag scared him more than a violent one. But the reaction had given him something to work with. Blag could be riled up and goaded and he was more likely to make mistakes if he was angry. Having four brothers meant Virgil was well-practised in the art of winding someone up until they snapped.

He stayed quiet for now though, knowing that unless he bide his time, he was more likely to get himself killed than he was to escape.

"You'll get what is coming to you soon enough." Blag gestured to his men and they started fiddling around with the screen. He turned his attention back to Virgil. "We should catch up. You've grown up since I've been away, after all."

Virgil stayed quiet but Blag just chuckled.

"I definitely remember you more talkative than this. Or maybe you just screamed and cried more. Which do you think?"

"What do you want from me, Blag?" Virgil asked quietly, suddenly realising how tired he felt. He felt as if he had been a captive for weeks now, even though he knew it could have only been a matter of days. But he was tired of the threats and the fear, of being bound and helpless in the face of danger. He was used to running headfirst into danger, much to Scott's exasperation. He wasn't used to being stuck in the centre of it.

"Nothing. You're just the bait."

"He'll know it is a trap." Virgil tried to sound confident, as if none of this bothered him. He wasn't sure it was working.

"Yet he will come anyway," Blag said. "Don't you see how perfect it all is? Of _course_ he will know it's a trap. But you're his weakness; you always have been. He took your place all those years ago and he is going to take your place now as well."

"I wouldn't be so sure. He's more likely to take you down," Virgil muttered. His heart was pounding as his gaze involuntarily drifted back to the screen. He didn't know what Blag was planning, but he knew it would mean nothing good for his family when the screen activated.

But Virgil's luck had been left back in New York. As soon as he looked over, the men straightened up.

"It's all set."

"And the other end as well?" Blag looked excited and Virgil swallowed nervously. The men both nodded, confirming whatever they were doing was set and ready to go before they left the room, sneering at Virgil on the way out.

"You're no doubt wondering what this is all about?" Blag began conversationally, switching on the screen as he did so. Virgil frowned when he found himself looking at what appeared to be an empty airplane hangar.

"You've been here, believe it or not. You were conveniently unconscious at the time though. You Tracys always follow each other around. Your brothers will follow, I'll make sure of that. All Scott needs is a faint whisper of your whereabouts and he'll come running." Blag leant closer, his face lighting up in sadistic delight.

"There will be a welcome message from me that's, well… _explosive_ I think is the best term for it."

Virgil felt sick. It didn't matter that he tried to keep his expression neutral, he knew the horror was visible in his eyes. Blag laughed.

"You're insane," Virgil whispered, staring at him. "You'll kill them!"

"Maybe, maybe not." Blag shrugged, completely unconcerned.

"Why go to all of this trouble if you are just going to kill them?"

"Don't you see, Virgil? Scott should have died all those years ago. If the explosion kills him, then this will be over and I'll let you go."

"And if it doesn't?"

"You'll be wishing it had." Blag's voice was deadly quiet and Virgil shivered before he could stop himself. He knew Blag was mad. Only now, however, was he appreciating that the man was more dangerous than ever.

"You'll never get away with it," Virgil muttered, tugging at his bonds again. "I've already got people looking for me."

His father had agents all over the world. The Tracys themselves had dealt with Blag before and knew what they were up against. They had all the technology International Rescue could offer at their disposal. Blag had just made it personal for the cops as well by taking Matt. Virgil had no idea how the man thought he could get away with this.

"Maybe. But I have contacts of my own. Favours to be called in and deals to make. Happy viewing."

Blag patted the top of the screen and strode from the room, whistling as he did so. Virgil waited until he heard the key turn in the lock before rolling his neck, trying to breathe calmly and settle his pounding heart.

He had to find some way of warning his brothers off the hangar before it was too late! Blag was wrong when he said that it might take them a few days to track the place down. John probably already knew and would have told Scott. His brother was most likely on his way already.

Scott was walking straight into a trap and there was nothing Virgil could do about it.


	11. Chapter 11

"What the _hell_ you are doing?"

His father's voice was cold and angry and Scott turned.

John and Gordon had finally succumbed to sleep, both of them sprawled over Scott's bed. They had protested, but Scott knew how to handle his younger brothers. It had been easy to turn John's argument back on himself, claiming he was no use to Virgil when exhausted. Gordon was even easier: Scott had always been able to get Gordon to – eventually – listen and do as he was told. The guilt of failing one brother was eating away at him. Scott wasn't prepared to increase that by not looking out for the younger ones, even if they were all adults.

Scott was in the lounge, examining the rest of the kit from John's bag. There was more than one weapon hidden amongst the wires and monitors. He looked up at his dad. The furious expression on the man's face revealed he realised his sons weren't planning on sitting around for much longer. Scott slowly stood, squaring his shoulders. He was glad the others were asleep: it had always been him who had to face their father when something had gone awry. Only this time, he wasn't a misbehaving child.

"Going to get Virgil," Scott said simply.

"You don't know where he is."

Scott knew it was fear that was making his father angry. He kept his voice calm, slipping into the professional mode that he was used to.

"John's still monitoring the hangar. Even if he isn't there, it might give us a clue where to go next."

"The police-"

"The police don't know what they are dealing with, Dad!" Scott cried. He put down the gun he'd forgotten he had picked up and ran a hand through his hair. "Even if they accept it is Blag behind Matt's disappearance, they don't know what they are up against. They haven't faced him. We have to do this. _I_ have to do this."

He knew by the time the police mustered a task-force to storm the hangar – if they took John's anonymous tip seriously – it would be too late. Blag would have moved by then. His father would have contacted their agents by now. But Matt was their main contact in New York – the others would either have to hack into the systems the way John did or travel to be here in person. That, too, was taking too much time for Scott to sit and wait.

"You can't just take matters into your own hands! Damnit, Scott, they took your brother - who can more than handle himself. You can't do this alone."

"He won't be alone."

Scott glanced over his shoulder as his brothers emerged from his room. The colour drained from his father's face. He had known John was on his way, but had no idea Gordon was coming as well. Scott looked between his father and brothers, wincing. As his dad took a step forward, John moved in front of Gordon.

"He can help, Dad. You know he can," John said quietly. His father's glare made him stop though, even shifting to one side so Gordon was visible again.

Scott shared concerned glances with John. Neither of them had ever seen their father look like this before. To say he was angry was an understatement. Scott didn't understand why the man hadn't expected it though; he knew what his sons were like. But then Scott realised he wasn't the only one terrified of Blag and his father's fear was morphing into anger. Unfortunately, his sons were the only people around for him to take it out on.

But Jeff didn't say anything. To Scott's surprise, he pulled out his cell.

"What are you doing?" Scott asked.

"Arranging an escort to send all three of you home."

"Dad!" John stepped forward, forcing Scott to do the same. He didn't trust anyone's temper right now.

"No. I told you not to come here. Do you have _any_ idea how much danger you have put yourself in, John? That you put _Gordon_ in by bringing him? Blag will be watching; he'll know you're both on the mainland. You've just made yourselves targets!"

"I know what I'm doing, Dad," John protested. His expression was indignant. "I'm the one normally covering our tracks."

"Not against Blag, you're not."

John visibly winced, looking at the floor at the harsh note in their father's voice. Scott moved and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He and Virgil may have awoken screaming that they couldn't save each other, but John's nightmares had always been about failing to find Scott, despite having only been a child.

"Dad, stop." Gordon's voice was calm. Scott glanced at him and saw his brother was unruffled by the scene in front of him. This was the Gordon their victims saw, the man in control of any situation regardless of what nature was throwing at them. This was the man who could calm even the most hysterical victim down with just a few words.

"If he is that good, then it would only be a matter of time until he found the island. Found Grandma, and Al. We've brought the fight to him. Besides, he can't be as bad as the nightmares, right?"

"You don't remember-"

"I'm pretty sure he can't sprout wings in real life," Gordon cut in, his voice steady.

Scott glanced at John, who shrugged. Neither of them realised Gordon's dreams had been so vivid. Their father opened his mouth, the anger still burning in his eyes, when Gordon spoke again.

"We can do this. You know we can. Trust us."

His tone was quiet and gentle. Somehow, it cut through to their father more than John's heated retorts. Scott watched as his dad opened his mouth, but no words escaped him. Noticing – not for the first time – how old his father looked, Scott moved forward, taking his arm and guiding him back to sit on the sofa. The fact his dad let it happen spoke volumes. Scott realised the man was shaking.

"Dad, what is it?" His own voice was soft as he crouched next to the man.

"I can't lose you as well. Any of you." His father looked down at his hands. "I spent so many nights promising Virgil that he was safe, that Blag couldn't come for him again. And now he has your brother. I broke my promise."

"Virg won't think that, Dad. He'll know you're doing all you can to get him back." John closed the distance between them as he spoke, perching on the arm of the chair and meeting Scott's eyes, looking for reassurance that he was saying the right thing. Scott nodded and John continued.

"Right now, this hangar is the best lead we have. Gordon's right; we can do this. You know we can. Scott and Gordon have handled things like before and I'll monitor the situation the way I always do. We'll be fine."

Jeff didn't say anything, only continued staring at his hands, and the three sons pulled back so that they could talk in private.

"Is he okay?" Gordon asked. Despite his previous calm tone, Scott could see how much this was getting to him. Gordon had been focused on getting Virgil back: it stopped him dwelling on the implications of said brother being missing in the first place.

But seeing their father – their commander – losing it had clearly got to him. It made Scott remember just how young Gordon still was. Reaching over, he squeezed the back of Gordon's neck.

"He will be when we get Virgil back."

"I'm still not sure he will let us go," John murmured, peering over Scott's shoulder at their father as he spoke.

Scott gave a shadow of a smirk. "Always do what Daddy tells you, Johnny?"

John answered with a smirk of his own, taking Scott's words as a challenge.

"When?" Gordon asked.

"Tonight," Scott said, "we'll get Dad to get some rest and then go. I can't wait any longer. If Virg is there, if there is even a clue there, I have to get to it before anyone else does. But the way Dad is thinking right now, I wouldn't put it past him to send someone after us. We don't have time for that; Virgil doesn't have time for that."

"Scott?"

Scott glanced at John just in time to see him and Gordon exchange hurried looks before they both looked back at him.

"Never mind Dad…"

"…are _you_ alright?"

"I thought people said that Virg and I were the double-act?"

"Just answer the question," John said.

"Dad's not the only one who promised him that he would be safe. I need him back. Now."

Luckily, both of his brothers understood what he meant. Scott wasn't sure he could explain it in more elaborate terms than that even if he tried. While John headed back towards their father and Gordon returned to the bedroom, Scott once again found himself out on the balcony, hands gripping at the railings.

"I'm coming, Virg. Hold on, I'm coming."

Matt disappearing had escalated things. For the first time since Virgil had been taken, Scott felt the cops were on the right track. John's anonymous tip had made them start examining local airstrips and talk about how Virgil could have been taken out of the city without the alarm being raised. They hadn't found the hangar yet though, and Scott knew they couldn't wait for the police to piece it together. They had to move, with or without back-up. As much as he wanted to tell the cops precisely where to look, Scott felt this was personal. He wanted to face Blag once and for all, without the protection of a squad that wouldn't let him anywhere near the maniac. He didn't say anything to his brothers, but he didn't want the police to find anything in time.

There was another reason he didn't want the police too heavily involved. His father had called the cops all those years ago. John still bore the scars from that decision. Now Matt had gone missing and was no longer in control of the police, Scott didn't trust them. He wanted to, but he couldn't.

He had to grit his teeth as the day progressed. He knew he couldn't do this completely on his own, regardless of how much he hated the thought of any more brothers being in Blag's reach. He wanted to move, right now, but every time he tried to give the others a signal or even slip out the door, John stopped him. Sometimes with a hand to his wrist, sometimes just saying his name warningly. Scott knew John was hoping back up would arrive in time and Scott had no idea how to tell him that he wanted to handle this alone. But John was stubborn: his refusal to let Scott leave meant it was impossible to go without it leading to an argument. Once the police had returned to continue their investigation, the brothers were limited about what they could say.

The cops' interference wasn't Scott's only concern, though. They couldn't afford for their dad to stop them but Scott hoped he would be persuaded to rest. If not… Gordon had found the sleeping pills their father had used on Scott only a few days before.

Usually, Jeff would be the first to support a scheme his sons concocted; he knew better than most what they were capable of. Scott wasn't certain if it was because he had doubts about what they were planning or his fear over them confronting Blag after he had spent years trying to soothe their nightmares that stopped him from assisting them. But although he couldn't say anything with the cops in the room, Scott was aware that his father was watching him suspiciously as the day drew on. John's stare wasn't the only thing stopping Scott from sneaking out again.

As the day turned into evening, Scott and Gordon shut themselves in Scott's room. Scott tried to force Gordon to rest, but his brother gave him a scathing look and carried on with what he was doing. If anyone could get their father to agree to sleep, it was John. Jeff had looked frail earlier on and Scott hoped that he would listen to his son. Scott didn't want to resort to drastic measures, convinced his father would never forgive him if he did. But if it was that or pass up an opportunity to save Virgil, then it was no choice at all.

A soft knock on the door made Scott spring off the bed. He opened it as Gordon rolled off the bed, also standing.

John was alone.

"He's asleep," the blond muttered and Scott strode out of the room. Reaching the centre of the lounge, Scott saw that John had already started gathering the equipment they might need.

"How are we going to get there?" Gordon suddenly asked and John's face fell. Scott rolled his eyes. His brothers had been so focused on what would happen when they got there that they hadn't considered the first step in the plan.

"We're taking the Jeep," Scott said.

"What Jeep?" Gordon looked nonplussed.

"Dad's. It's at the office. It has room for all of us and can handle off-road if needed."

"So we're going to run halfway across town, despite knowing of at least two kidnappings, steal a car and flee the city?" John sounded incredulous but Scott was more concerned by the grin spreading over Gordon's face.

"Kind of," he said.

"Kind of?"

"Does it count as stealing if you have the keys?" Scott pulled out said keys, grinning at the look of disbelief on both Gordon and John's faces.

"How did you..?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, it's time for us to go and get our brother back."

It came as no surprise that no one argued as he led the way from the apartment.

TBTBTB

Virgil paused, shut his eyes and took a deep breath. The repetitive movement was starting to become irritating but he couldn't stop. He was just grateful that no one had heard the methodical thuds coming from their prisoner.

Gritting his teeth, he kicked back, his heel bouncing off the leg of the chair and causing pain to lance through his foot. He couldn't just sit here when the others were in danger. He had kicked back in frustration the first time, then realised the more he did it, the looser the ropes around his feet became. He had been at it for what felt like hours, driving his feet back one at a time and gradually feeling his bindings starting to slip. He only hoped that he hadn't hurt himself in the process, fully aware that he still needed to run even once he was free.

Just as he wondered whether he was fooling himself, he realised he could wriggle his left foot out of the rope. As soon as he could put his foot on the floor properly, no longer bound to the chair, he was able to work his right foot free. Virgil bit his lip, wincing as he was finally able to stretch out his legs properly for the first time in hours.

Once he had feeling back in his feet, Virgil stood. His hands were still bound to the chair though and his balance was precarious. But the chair had groaned every time he had struggled: it was old, wooden and rickety and had been digging splinters into him since he had regained consciousness. He knew why – Blag wanted him as uncomfortable as possible. It gave him hope though: the chair was weak.

Virgil shuffled towards the door, almost doubled over because of the chair. He pressed his ear to the door, listening hard. He couldn't hear anything and crossed his fingers that it meant there wasn't a guard directly outside of the door. He needed a little more time to free himself before anyone noticed.

As satisfied as he could be, Virgil moved awkwardly over to the closest wall. His brothers were walking into a trap and he refused to sit there and let it happen. He also flatly refused to be the bait that lured Scott in. Letting the frustration and anger at the situation fuel him, Virgil spun sharply, slamming the chair into the wall as hard as he could.

To his horror, the noise was just as loud as he feared it would be. But although the chair squeaked in protest, it didn't break. The noise would have no doubt drawn attention and Virgil knew he needed to be able to defend himself when his captor arrived. Blag wouldn't let him escape.

Steeling himself, he repeated his action. The chair creaked on the second hit and on the third, it finally smashed.

Sighing in relief, Virgil brought his arms in front of him, his shoulders aching from the unnatural position they had been in for so long. His wrists were still tied to odd splinters of wood and Virgil instantly dropped to his knees, fumbling for the ropes. He could hear footsteps in the hallway and knew at least two men were heading his way.

He had just managed to get his hands free when he heard the sound of the bolt being driven back. Virgil suddenly realised that solved his next problem - how to get out of the door.

He was ready for them as soon as the door opened. The first man took a step into the room and Virgil snatched up a large piece of wood, throwing it with all his strength. He groaned, the muscles in his arms protesting the movement, but his aim was true. The wood hit the man in the head and Virgil followed it up with a swift blow while the guard was still trying to figure out what had happened.

He didn't have time to repeat the action as a second man charged in, deftly jumping over his comrade and making a beeline straight for him. Virgil's mind went numb; he had no idea how to react. The man was almost on top of him and instinct made Virgil take a step to the side at the last moment. To his delight, the man's momentum carried him too far and he couldn't stop himself before he hit the wall, throwing himself off balance.

Virgil reacted fast. Moving behind the man, he looped one arm around his neck, trying to pin him against the wall. The man was bigger than him and it was only his desperation that meant Virgil could exert enough pressure. The guard fought him, but Virgil had the advantageous position and, eventually, his opponent slumped. Virgil dropped him to the floor.

He wouldn't be out cold for long – Virgil wasn't strong enough for that. Grabbing the rope, he bound the man before dragging the other further into the room and repeating the action. Once satisfied that they were both secure, he moved to the door, slipping into the corridor before heaving it shut and drawing the bolt. He hoped the locked door would buy him time and no one would check on him until Blag ordered it. He had no idea how many men Blag had – remaining undetected was the best chance he had.

Virgil paused, trying to work out which route offered him freedom and a chance to warn the others. Choosing a direction, he realised they weren't necessarily the same thing. But if his freedom was the price to pay for saving the others, Virgil would gladly pay it.

He ran down the corridor. A shiver ran down his spine, though. There was something about this place that was creeping him out, beyond the fact he was being held prisoner by a madman. It almost felt familiar…

Pushing it from his mind, he continued running. He could deal with creepy thoughts afterwards; right now, he needed to get out.

The hallway was deserted and Virgil took that as a good sign. The fact that Matt would need to be guarded as well would help scatter Blag's forces. But knowing the maniac himself was here somewhere meant Virgil stayed alert, jumping at every shadow.

He was only halfway down the hallway before he realised the building appeared to be a house. It was clear no one lived here, though. Dust a few inches thick covered everything, apart from where Blag and his men had been moving around. For a split-second, Virgil smirked. His grandmother would have a field day over this place.

But as he realised it was indeed a house, he stopped. Another shudder wracked him. He was in line with a window, revealing he was on the ground floor. It would make escaping easier, but that wasn't what drew Virgil's attention. On the horizon, a dark smudge caught his eye. As Virgil focused, he realised it was a forest.

Scott had mentioned a forest when he had escaped, all those years ago.

He stumbled back from the window, hitting the opposite wall and freezing, staring out of the window.

He knew where he was.

Blag had taken him back to where it had all started. Literally.

Virgil had never been here himself, but he had heard enough from Scott (mainly through nightmarish mutterings rather than anything his brother consciously spoke about) and he had seen the police reports once he was old enough to understand them. If things had gone differently all those years ago, he would have been the one trapped here as a terrified child.

It was exactly the same house.

As his heart-rate started to settle, Virgil forced himself to think rationally. This could be a good thing. He knew his family would have worked out it was Blag – Virgil realised his father knew about Blag breaking out and that was why he had sent the cops to bring his son back to the penthouse. But they knew how Blag's mind worked. They might realise where he was. If, of course, they survived whatever surprise Blag had left at the hangar.

Virgil had no idea how Blag was going to send Scott a message about the hangar. But he knew his brother, and knew with the technology they had at their disposal, there was every chance that John had already tracked the hangar down. If Virgil had indeed been there, his brothers would find out.

He had to get out of here! He took a step away from the wall and slammed his shoulder into the window. It was locked, but the frame creaked at the pressure. Once again repeating his action – and wondering how many more bruises he was gaining – Virgil rammed it again and this time, the hinge on the window gave. It swung open, lopsidedly hanging by just a few screws. The house hadn't managed to contain Scott: years of neglect only made it easier to force a few hinges.

He hauled himself onto the ledge and dropped down the other side, groaning as his aching body protested. The fresh air caused adrenaline to surge and he tensed, bracing himself. Looking around revealed the area to be clear. Focusing on the distant tree line, Virgil once again started to run.

It was nothing compared to the speeds that Virgil was used to, but he had underestimated how long he had been Blag's prisoner for. The drugs coupled with the lack of food and drink were taking their toll, plus the physical exertion of struggling for so long. Virgil could have sworn the trees were getting further away with every step he took.

He had to reach cover though - the grassy area he was currently crossing was too exposed. All Blag had to do was glance out of the window and he would see his prisoner escaping. But as he tried to put on another burst of speed, he stumbled. The lack of guards suddenly made sense. They were in the middle of nowhere and Virgil knew that unless he slowed down, he would pass out before he made the treeline. But if he slowed, he would be seen.

Swearing, Virgil forced himself to keep moving, biting his lip as he did so. The sharp pain helped him to focus beyond the black spots dancing in front of his vision and Virgil covered a little more distance.

It didn't help him though.

A shout sounded and Virgil made the mistake of turning around. He could see at least three men sprinting towards him and knew it was now or never. Forcing his tired body to move, Virgil ran as fast as he could. If he could get to the trees, then he would be able to take cover and let them run on straight past him…

A sharp crack filled the air and he fell with a cry. His whole body jerked for a moment as he fumbled blindly for his leg. It was the centre point for the pain, but it radiated across his entire body.

Eventually, his fumbling hand managed to find a dart lodged in his leg. Virgil pulled it out, staring at the wires leading from it. As his leg continued to tremble, he realised he had, once again, been hit with a taser. The men were closer than he thought. Attempting to stand, Virgil shouted in pain and frustration as his leg buckled under his weight and he hit the ground again, unprepared for the sudden movement.

But he wasn't going to sit there and wait to be caught. Stubbornness ran in his veins and Virgil gritted his teeth, painfully pulling himself across the ground.

He didn't get far before the men surrounded him. One put their foot in the centre of his back, slamming him back down to the ground before rough hands turned him over. Virgil lay where he was, panting as he glared up at them. His heart was thudding and it wasn't just due to the exertion. He swallowed his fear, refusing to let the men see it. But he was afraid: afraid of what was about to happen to him, but most of all, what that would mean for his family. Breathing heavily through his nose, Virgil clenched his hands into fists, making it appear as if he was angry. It was better than them realising he was trembling.

"Go on then," he snarled, wondering if this was going to be it. "Kill me."

"You really think it's that easy?"

The man's mocking tone made Virgil glare but he didn't say anything as all three men crouched next to him. Two held him down – Virgil only just resisted the urge to tell them he wasn't going anywhere – while the third pulled out a needle. He tried tensing, but it was too late as it was pushed into his neck.

Their grinning faces was the last thing he saw until the world once again went dark.


	12. Chapter 12

_Happy New Year, everyone! Thank you so much for your continued support, it means the world._

* * *

A cough tore from Virgil's throat before he had properly regained consciousness. His whole body tensed, trying to hold it in. He refused to open his eyes, having no desire to see what position he had landed himself in this time. He knew Blag wouldn't let his escape go unpunished and didn't intend to reveal he was conscious again. He knew he had tried his hardest and not everyone would have got as far as he did.

The problem was they were in the middle of nowhere: there was nowhere to run to. The house was isolated; no one was close enough to realise it was suddenly being inhabited again. Blag was twisted coming back here, but Virgil felt it was working: no one had found them yet. But he didn't let that get to him. His family knew who was behind his abduction and Virgil knew it was only a matter of time before they figured out where he was.

"Virgil?"

The voice was soft and quiet but Virgil jumped, his eyes flying open. He swore when he realised he wasn't in the house any longer. It was dark and damp: his back was pressed to a wall and Virgil could feel the moisture seeping into his shirt. He shivered, trying to pull away, and realised his hands were tied, lashed above his head to an iron ring embedded in the wall.

He could be in an actual dungeon. Virgil shivered again, then forced himself to think realistically. Blag didn't have a proper dungeon.

He hoped…

As much as Virgil wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and find he was somewhere different when he opened them, he couldn't. That voice was familiar. He looked around, squinting in the dim light. Then he swore again.

Just out of reach – even if Virgil kicked out – but slumped against the wall with his hands tied the same way, was an old friend.

"Matt?"

Virgil didn't know what he had expected. Blag had shown him the footage: he _knew_ that Matt had been taken. But he had hoped his friend might have made a miraculous escape or been rescued. There was no denying the figure sitting next to him, though. Virgil lent his head back on the wall as helplessness rose once again within him. Blag was winning and there was nothing Virgil could do about it. He momentarily shut his eyes and sighed. Anger and frustration coiled in his stomach but Virgil was beginning to get the feeling that no matter what he tried, it wouldn't be enough.

Matt attempted to smile, but it was little more than a grimace.

"I would say good to see you, but given the circumstances…" he said, glancing up at his bound hands.

"What happened?" Virgil asked. Matt lived on the outskirts of the city. With Blag's contacts, it wouldn't have been hard to track him down. But Matt was a good cop – it wouldn't have been easy to take him by surprise. Then again, Virgil was one of the key operatives to International Rescue. Blag shouldn't have been able to get to him either, yet here they were.

"Someone tampered with my car. The engine just died in the middle of nowhere. Got out to have a look, next thing I know, two guys have jumped me."

Virgil shook his head, not knowing what to say. There wasn't anything he _could_ say. Blag had known where to ambush Matt. He had also known precisely how to get to Virgil. The number of men he had sent showed he knew not to underestimate them. Thinking back to what he could remember of the fight, Virgil wondered if the force was not only to contain him, but to stop Scott from following. The men could have killed his brother, but they hadn't. They had just kept him at bay. Blag was toying with them.

"What's he planning, Matt?" Virgil murmured, not expecting an answer but needing to voice the thoughts running through his head. They had dealt with all sorts of problems throughout their life, most of them since starting International Rescue. But they had always prevailed, even against nature. Virgil didn't know how to defeat an opponent when he didn't know what they wanted. It was something to do with Scott, but Virgil couldn't work out if Blag wanted to kill his brother or not.

"I don't know," Matt admitted. Virgil heard him shifting position and knew it was aggravating the officer that he couldn't pace the way was prone to do when a problem arose. "But he seems to know too much about us all."

"Dad will protect Nicole and the kids," Virgil said softly. He knew what Matt feared the most and Blag seemed to know their weak spots. Not to mention Nicole had met the man when he had been masquerading as a businessman all those years ago.

"I know." Matt didn't sound convinced. Virgil wasn't even sure if he believed his own words. Blag always seemed one step ahead.

"Virgil?"

"Yeah?"

"Scott knows who is behind it. He'll come for you."

"That's what worries me," Virgil muttered, trying to shift position. "Blag's left him a trail of breadcrumbs, hidden just enough that Scott won't think of it being a trap. He would have got John involved by now. Blag is expecting Scott to come for me; he's waiting for him."

"What will he do?" Worry laced Matt's tone. Virgil shook his head, leaning back against the wall and trying to blink away tears of frustration. He refused to be used as bait for the rest of the family, knowing that Blag had the power to destroy them all.

But right now, he didn't see what he could do about it and he hated it.

"He's rigged a hangar and is leading them straight to it. I don't think Scott will go alone, but I…" Virgil took a deep breath, fearing if he said it out loud, it would come to pass "Blag doesn't care about the others, only getting to Scott. He's going to kill them, then kill me once I've played my part."

"I won't let that happen."

"I don't really see what you can do to stop it," Virgil muttered. If only there was something he could do to warn the others! His hands scrunched into fists and he tugged against the cuffs, hoping they would give enough for him to free himself. But nothing happened. Blag wasn't taking any more chances that Virgil might escape.

Silence fell between the two men, neither able comfort to the other. They both knew who they were up against and just how incredibly dangerous Blag was – the man might have been insane, but he was clever. It was a deadly combination. More than anything, Virgil wished he had his watch, a way of contacting Scott and stopping his brothers walking into a trap.

"Do you know where we are?" Virgil asked, wondering if Matt had figured it out yet.

"No. I haven't seen daylight since they took me. We could be anywhere."

"We're in Kansas," Virgil said, trying to hide his shudder. He couldn't believe Blag had brought him here, to the very centre of Scott's nightmares.

Matt saw him, though.

"Where are we, Virg?" he asked, his voice soft and quiet. Virgil tucked his knees up to his chest, letting his head lean on them, talking to his legs rather than Matt.

"You should know; you've been here before. We're back where it started," he mumbled, his tone despondent. Matt swore, clearly unable to believe that such a daring move had worked. They both knew Blag had called their bluff: no one would think that he would come back to such an obvious location, so no one had looked.

"He's not going to kill the others," Matt said.

"How do you know?"

"After everything the world has thrown at you all over the years? They'll be on their guard; a trap won't stop them."

A shadow of a smile crossed Virgil's face. Matt didn't just mean their previous encounters with Blag. He meant International Rescue. For all of Blag's gloating and mocking, he didn't know them, didn't know what they were capable of.

When Blag realised precisely who he was dealing with, Virgil wanted to see the look on the man's face. He wanted to see Blag understand that he would never truly win.

Right now, however, Virgil just needed that moment to hurry up and arrive. He was freezing.

"They know it's Blag, and you know what your brothers are like," Matt continued. "They won't stop looking until they have you-"

"Us."

"What?"

"Until they have _us_ back. You really think they are just coming for me? They'll know you are missing by now as well and I've seen your wife when she is angry. They'll come for us both and then we will get out of here."

"How touching," a voice sneered.

Virgil flinched as sunlight streamed into their prison. He squinted against the light, realising the door was at the top of a set of steps. It slammed shut behind Blag as he entered. But Virgil had been able to have a look around their prison. They seemed to be in some sort of pit, or a cellar or…

Virgil's heart thudded uncomfortably. There was a shadow, an outline of what he had, at first, presumed was a table on the other side of the room. But Virgil had just figured out precisely where they were.

They were being held in a crypt.

This time, his shiver was nothing to do with the cold.

Matt swore and Virgil knew his friend had also figured out where they were. He didn't have the chance to say anything before a light flared into life. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision before looking up.

Blag was standing in front of him, looking pleased. Even as Virgil grew accustomed to the light, the door opened again and two of the men struggled in. One carried a small table, the other a laptop and they moved down the steps, placing the items where Blag indicated. Blag opened the laptop, ensuring Virgil could see the screen. It was currently blank.

"What do you want?" Virgil muttered bitterly. He wanted to keep the attention away from Matt. Apart from when he had first rescued Scott, Matt hadn't had to come face to face with Blag – Virgil still recalled his unconscious form on the floor when he had slipped into Scott's hospital room all those years ago. He wanted to give his friend some time to deal with the fact that Blag was standing in front of him.

"Don't push me!" Blag snarled. "You think you can attempt to escape and expect to get away with it? When you have played your part-"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll kill me. You know this is getting old now, right?" Virgil had no idea what he was doing or why he thought mocking Blag like this would be a good idea. But he was frustrated with the whole situation and was not going to sit idly by while his family were in danger.

"Slowly," Blag said. His tone was quiet and he stared steadily at Virgil, unflinching. Despite himself, Virgil broke the eye-contact first and Blag chuckled. It didn't matter how much he pretended, Blag knew how scared Virgil was.

Virgil remained quiet as Blag fiddled with the laptop, loading it up and ensuring the screen was visible. Part of him was hopeful – John knew how to hack into anything and if Blag was sending a signal, his brother could trace it – but he forced himself to be realistic. John was hundreds of miles away – even if he could trace it, no one would be able to get here any time soon.

The screen booted up and Virgil swallowed. It was the same hangar as before. Blag wanted him to see this and escaping wasn't enough to change his mind.

Blag wanted him to watch his brothers die.

Virgil glared at his captor, pouring his hate and anger into that one look. Blag grinned, adjusted the position one last time and climbed the stairs. He paused at the top.

"Enjoy the show. It's the last you'll see."

He slammed the door behind him. Virgil's hands clenched into fists, tensing his restraints as three figures emerged on the screen.

He had been right in thinking that Scott wouldn't go alone.

He hadn't realised that it would be both John _and_ Gordon with him though.

Virgil wanted to look away, to refuse to watch.

But he knew that, no matter what happened next, he owed it to his brothers. They were about to live through whatever Blag had planned. The very least he could do was watch.

TBTBTB

Scott took a deep breath, checking the gun in his hand was loaded. Even when they were out on missions for International Rescue, he didn't like the idea of being armed. They were supposed to be a neutral organisation and Scott knew that more than one government would love the excuse to either shut them down or detain one of the operatives. Carrying weapons would give them that excuse and it wasn't as if the brothers were helpless.

This time, however, he hadn't protested when Gordon had produced the guns.

This wasn't about saving unknown strangers while putting their own lives at risk. This was about getting his little brother back, and there was nothing Scott wouldn't do in order to accomplish that.

The drive out to the hangar had been tense. How Gordon ended up driving, he still wasn't sure. But Gordon had muttered something about John being needed to keep track of movement and Scott being more likely to kill them driving too fast. Before either he or John could protest, Gordon had taken the keys out of Scott's hand and that was that. Arguing about it would cost them precious time.

Time, they were all too aware, that Virgil might not have.

To give his brother credit, Gordon had got them out here at a speed Scott wasn't sure he would have managed without crashing the car. It was easier for Gordon, he wasn't being plagued with flashes of their past every time he blinked. Only when John shot him an alarmed look did Scott realise that he was hyperventilating and the knowledge was enough to make himself calm down. He had been put through enough scenarios in his life to mean he had mastered the knack of calming himself down from a panic attack. He needed to - the Air Force would have never let him in if he wasn't in control. But given their situation, his normal tricks took a long time to work and Scott was angry – at himself more than anything – by the time he could breathe properly again. He _hated_ that Blag had this much power over him.

"What if they are in there?" Gordon's quiet voice made Scott refocus on the job at hand as he glanced at his brother. They were fortunate in their position. Through chance (and some quick navigation on John's behalf), they had approached the hangar from the east, using a natural incline to give them cover. The car was out of sight and if they kept low, they would remain unseen while they examined the area. Scott was lying on his stomach, his gun in his hand as he stared down at the hangar. Gordon had crawled up next to him while John was still by the car, trying to pull up any information or camera feeds that he could hack into that might prove useful.

"Then I hope for their sake they don't get in our way," Scott muttered darkly. He was usually the first to caution his brothers about being rash. But this was Virgil. His brother. His best friend.

No one was going to get in his way.

"What about John?" Gordon continued.

"What about him?"

"What if they are still in there and John is with us?"

Scott glanced at Gordon and sighed, realising what his brother meant. He and Gordon were both trained, even if it had been a while since either of them had been in the military. But Scott knew they could still hold their own, even in a gunfight and outnumbered. But John's talents had always rested elsewhere and he did very little fieldwork compared to the rest of them. His reactions – while greater than a causal citizen – were not as quick as his brothers'. Could they risk John coming in with them when it could get him hurt?

Scott looked over his shoulder to see John was heading their way. He, too, had a gun in his hand and Scott knew by the look on his face they weren't going to have an option. John wouldn't take no for an answer, and they didn't have time to either argue or convince him to stay here. Gordon followed his gaze and as Scott turned back, their eyes met. Scott knew Gordon realised the same as him: John wouldn't be left behind.

Scott pulled a face. "Look out for him," he said quietly, making sure that John didn't hear as the man dropped down beside them. Gordon nodded once.

"What's the plan?" John asked, scanning the building in front of him.

"Did you pick up anything?" Scott didn't know precisely what John had been doing. John shook his head.

"I'm not getting any readings. But I'm also trying to over-ride Five from a laptop and zoom in on a small location. The chances are that I'm looking at New Mexico rather than New York, it's not exactly accurate doing it like this. But if it is any consolation, everything looked quiet."

"That doesn't help." Scott rose into a crouch, preparing to approach as he did so.

"Why? Surely any chance to avoid a fight-"

"It's the only lead we have," Scott said simply. John didn't answer and when Scott looked at him, he saw his brother had gone pale. If the men weren't here, then the chances were Virgil wasn't either. Scott wasn't prepared for this to all be for nothing.

"I thought you were supposed to be good at these rallying the troops speeches?" Gordon said, smirking. "Johnny, we'll be fine. Shoot anything that moves. Unless it's me. You can shoot Scott, he's being a pain. Just not me, got it?"

Before Scott could react, Gordon leapt up and started down the hill at a run. Scott and John looked at each other, before scrambling after Gordon. If there was one thing that neither were going to allow, it was their little brother running into danger without them.

No alarm was raised as they approached. Gordon was waiting for them at the bottom of the hill and they all shared a glance. It was quiet. Too quiet. Scott didn't want to consider what that meant.

"Now what?" John asked, his voice soft.

"Now we get Virgil back," Scott said. "Stay close to Gordon, John. Gords, follow my lead. I'll go in and clear it, you cover the doors. John, take out anyone that comes out, understood?"

"F.A.B." The familiar response gave Scott a feeling of reassurance, of strength. They were used to working as a team; they could do this. The three of them shared a long look and Scott took a deep breath.

"Let's get Virg back."

Scott set off at a run. Gordon was on his heels and his presence was reassuring: Scott knew Gordon had his back and he ran as he had never run before, his gaze locked on the hangar. The only thought in his head was reaching it and rescuing his brother. Any other thoughts were mere distractions right now.

He had halved the distance when something caught his eye. Scott slowed, twisting to see what the sun was glinting off. The ground should have been kept clear if this was an active airfield, but there was definitely something there. It had to be metal for the sun to catch it in such a way. As Scott changed direction, he realised there was a lens. Frowning, he didn't notice Gordon shoot past him as he and John continued to advance on the hangar.

"Scott?" Gordon's yell made Scott stop and he turned back. He could examine the object afterwards. It wasn't important enough to let his younger brothers run headlong into danger without him taking the lead. Knowing delaying only increased their chances of being seen, Scott raised his hand in acknowledgement to Gordon's shout and set off after them.

Gordon continued to run when he saw Scott following. Scott cursed, willing himself to move faster. Gordon wouldn't wait for him, wouldn't let him enter first to check for danger, but would barrel straight in himself, knowing that Scott was following. John also continued to move and Scott lengthened his stride.

Gordon reached the main hangar before Scott had caught up with them. Something wasn't right though: Scott could feel it.

"Gordon, don't!"

Gordon dashed inside, John right behind him. Scott sprinted after them, waiting for the flurry of gunfire to signal his brothers were in trouble.

Then he heard Gordon swear. The panic in his voice made Scott stumble. He had never heard Gordon like that.

" _Run_!" John also sounded alarmed but it only caused Scott to pick up his pace even more. His brothers suddenly emerged from the hangar, John holding Gordon's arm as he dragged him along. They saw Scott approaching.

"Run!" John yelled again, gesturing for Scott to turn around. John could co-ordinate the most troublesome of rescues from thousands of miles into space and make it sound like he was just taking a walk in the park. For him to sound like that…

Scott never finished his thought before an almighty explosion ripped through the air.

He was thrown backwards, instinct causing him to throw his arms over his head as debris rained down on him. He realised it was pieces of the actual hangar, the corrugated metal having been blasted into pieces from the force of the explosion. Smoke filled the air and Scott choked as he pushed himself upright, his head spinning and a loud ringing sound filling his ears. He stumbled in what he hoped was the right direction, a hoarse throat screaming John and Gordon's names.

He had no idea if they were answering him or not: he couldn't hear anything. A sticky feeling on the side of his face made him lift a hand and he stared as his fingers came away coated in blood. It explained why he felt so disorientated. But his brothers had been much closer to the explosion than he had…

They had to be okay! They just had to…

He stumbled, his body pitching forward until he hit the floor again. The dizziness was too much, he couldn't get back up. Scott looked up, then blinked. But his eyes weren't playing tricks on him: someone was walking towards him through the smoke. But the figure was uninjured, walking with an easy stride. John and Gordon had been closer – Scott knew they wouldn't be walking that comfortably, even if it was just fear for the others that hindered their movements.

Scott tried to scramble backwards, but he was too late. A man he didn't know emerged from the smoke. Hands hooked under his shoulders, pulling him further back from the hangar. Again, a glint caught Scott's attention and he suddenly found himself looking at the same lens that had drawn his eye before. It was a camera, positioned perfectly to have captured the explosion.

Scott frowned, then choked. His hands prised at the man's, clawing at him as he tried to escape. But the man had a firm grip on him and the cloth over Scott's mouth and nose made breathing difficult. Fumes hit the back of his throat, causing his eyes to water.

He struggled, fighting to get away but it was too late.

He passed out.


	13. Chapter 13

_These next few chapters have been an absolutely nightmare. Despite years of working with Bee, we've decided this has been the most rewrites/tweaks I've ever had to do._

 _For those always asking for updates, this is what this chapter has been through: writing, editing, beta-ing, editing, editing the next chapter and realising it didn't work, changing the order of this one, beta-ing for both 13 & 14, lost files/technical faults, a massive rewrite of both chapters after several discussions, editing, beta-ing, and editing again before I've finally got to this point. You could have had it earlier - filled with mistakes and inconsistencies with future chapters - or I could keep working until I was happy with it. I'm working on the story as fast as I can, but life and the muse sometimes have other ideas!_

 _Still, this is now finally done. I hope you enjoy it!_

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John was aware that he was coughing even before he realised he was conscious.

Choking, he rolled onto his side, then up onto all fours, head hanging as he struggled to get air into his lungs. Acrid smoke made his eyes water as he fought for breath.

He didn't know how he was still alive, let alone relatively unhurt. He was bruised all over and his right wrist throbbed painfully. His shoulder was also smarting as the old wound throbbed. But John knew he had been lucky; the explosion had been strong enough to have killed him.

"Scott? Gordon?" His voice cracked, hoarse and painful, as he shouted but John didn't care. To his delight, an answering groan came from his right.

He lurched upright, then fell back with a cry, his ankle refusing to support his weight. A quick inspection revealed he hadn't broken it, though. He didn't try and stand again, but started crawling towards his brother, not wanting to waste any more time while his body decided what else hurt.

He knew it was Gordon before he saw him. John swore when he caught sight of his brother; blood was smeared across his face and there was a beam resting over his legs, keeping Gordon trapped. Still, the younger man grinned when he saw John moving towards him.

Once there, John took a deep breath and managed to stand. But he bit his lip as he looked at Gordon: Virgil had told him more than once that relieving pressure could cause more damage. The way Gordon was swearing at him to hurry up, however, meant John was certain he was the one in the most danger if he didn't lift it.

"I'm not going to be able to hold it," he warned, hoping that Gordon took the hint and moved as soon as he had the clearance. His brother nodded, and John took a deep breath, steeling himself. He knew this was going to hurt.

Once his vision stopped weaving, John flexed his fingers, took hold of the beam and pulled. It was heavy, but not so heavy that he shouldn't be able to hold it on his own. That wasn't taking into account a bad wrist, however, and John only managed to hold the beam long enough for Gordon to wriggle free before it crashed back down.

Panting, John collapsed back next to Gordon. His brother hadn't moved far; he didn't appear to have the energy. John examined him anxiously, but Gordon grinned and gave him a thumbs-up rather than verbally responding. He was okay.

But that didn't alleviate John's fears. After all, Gordon wasn't the only brother out there.

"Scott?"

He yelled as loud as he could. Scott had been further away. Of _course_ he was fine; no doubt waiting for them and complaining about them being slow the way he did after every rescue. John kept those thoughts locked in the forefront of his mind, repeating them to himself. It was the only way he could think straight: refusing to admit what could have happened to Scott. But his brother was nowhere to be seen and John knew it wasn't just the smoke that was making it hard to breathe.

Gordon, however, was already trying to get to his feet, his face pale but his eyes blazing.

"Come on!"

"We have to find Scott!" John protested. He was still struggling to stand when Gordon set off back towards the car. Blood was running down both legs, but Gordon kept moving. John knew this wasn't the first time his brother had worked purely on adrenaline.

"We won't find him here," Gordon said grimly. John looked blankly at his brother.

"They took him!"

"Who?" John asked, stupidly. He knew who. His heart thudded painfully and the world swum as dizziness flooded him. Scott couldn't be gone: not again. John couldn't go through this _again_! Helpless anger mingled with panic and he forced himself to take a breath. Gordon needed him to hold it together, but John felt, for a wild moment, exactly like the terrified teenager who had been left behind all those years ago.

"Probably the same people who took Virg. I don't know!" Gordon stared wildly at him, desperation apparent in his expression. "I heard a plane, John. They had one here all along! They planned this!"

Gordon didn't give him the chance to answer but took off. John hurried after him. He knew what his brother was like; Gordon would drive off without him if he thought John was being too slow.

As he drew level, John realised just how pale his brother was. "Gords-,"

"Don't!" Gordon snapped. "We need to go after them! How long have we been out for?"

John glanced at his watch, wincing at the crack in it. No wonder his wrist hurt. He knew it wouldn't be working as a communicator any more, not with that sort of damage. He shook his head. He wasn't thinking straight; he couldn't figure it out.

"When did they take him?"

"I don't know!" Gordon's voice was distressed and John knew it was partly his fault for asking stupid questions. Gordon had been trapped; it wasn't up to him to monitor everything that had happened. John took a deep breath.

Without another word, they continued to run. John cursed that they had been cautious and parked the car so far away: moving hurt. But he also knew he wasn't stopping. Not only was Virgil gone, now Scott was, too. It felt like a net was closing in on them - and there was no way he was letting Gordon be caught next.

The car came into view and Gordon gave a cry, speeding up. Gordon had left the keys in the ignition upon arrival, but John had pocketed them. His brother held out his hand impatiently even as John drew them out.

"C'mon, gimme the keys and get in. We have to go!" Gordon snapped, not understanding why his brother wasn't hurrying. But John calmly slipped into the back seat and – to Gordon's frustration – opened his laptop.

" _John!"_

"Where do we go? I can't track a plane – I never found a location for Virgil, remember?" John said bitterly, looking up at Gordon as he waited for something to load. Gordon opened his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue before it dawned on him that he had no idea.

"Exactly," John muttered, bending over the screen. Gordon slipped from the driver's seat and climbed in behind him, looking over John's shoulder as he pressed a few buttons.

"Is that a map of the area?" Gordon asked. John nodded, letting the map zoom out as he searched.

"What's that?" Gordon asked, indicating a flashing dot. John glanced at him and grimaced. He was within hitting distance and there was nothing he could do about it.

"You."

"Me? _What?_ "

John raised his eyebrows, waiting for it to click with Gordon. It took Gordon a moment but then his eyes widened.

"You put a tracker on me?" he yelled, staring at his brother, anger in his expression.

John felt heat flooding his cheeks but he stared back.

"Not just you," he said, tapping away at the keyboard until the map zoomed out and started to pan.

"You put one on Scott as well?" Gordon asked.

John nodded, scanning the map as it moved.

"It's in his jacket pocket," he muttered, grinning when another dot finally came onto the screen.

"Got him! They _are_ heading to Kansas."

"Come again?"

"Something Scott said," John muttered, as much to himself as his brother. "He thinks that's where Blag took Virg. He's going in the same direction now. We need to move."

"We should call Dad. Call the cops," Gordon said.

John bit his lip. "Dad," he said, "Dad needs to know what happened."

Their father could pass the message onto the cops. No doubt the man would call them as soon as he realised his sons were absent, even if it was just to try and bring them home again. It would save them time though – they could start moving while their father liaised with the authorities.

"Let's go." Gordon grabbed the keys and raced back around to the driver's side. John was quick to follow him, climbing in and belting up. They were on their own out here; they needed help.

Gordon started the engine, but then, to John's surprise, he stopped.

"There was only one light."

"I know, I didn't put them on you until we got here, that's why Virg hasn't got one. I bet he is…"

"Not Virg." Gordon's voice was heavy with emotion as he turned to face John. "Why haven't you got one?"

"Why would I bug myself?" John asked, nonplussed.

"For the same reason that you bugged us? This is the only thing we have leading us to Scott. What if it was you they had taken? We wouldn't even know where to start. Did you think it wouldn't matter if it was you?"

John stared, flushing at the anger in Gordon's tone. But he knew from Gordon's expression that his brother wasn't angry; he was upset.

John didn't know how to admit that it hadn't even crossed his mind to put one on himself. It had been a task and a half getting the trackers on his brothers without them finding out (he knew what they were like!) and it hadn't dawned on him that he was in the same danger they were.

"Gordon, I… I just didn't think."

"For someone who is supposed to be clever, you really are incredibly stupid, aren't you?"

John couldn't work out if Gordon was being serious or not, so he gave half a shrug and focused on settling the laptop on his lap.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly after a few moments, as Gordon got the car moving. He sensed his little brother glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Just think of what it would do to us if you were the one taken. What it would do to me." The last part was said quietly and John gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze.

"I really am sorry."

"Jerk."

That was all it took for John to know that Gordon had forgiven him. He didn't look up from the screen though, not thinking about where Gordon was going. He had no intention of losing Scott again. After a while of silence, Gordon spoke again.

"I know what you can do to make it up to me."

"What?" John said slowly, instantly suspicious. Gordon gave him a sideways look, a grin tugging on his lips.

"Call Dad. We took the Jeep without him knowing. Taking his plane is going to be a little harder."

John grinned as Gordon put his foot to the floor and the car bounced over rough terrain. John had landed on the far side of the city when they had arrived in New York – it was the only airstrip which had clear airspace at the time. But his father, Scott and Virgil had come in on this side – the family jet was safely stored in an airfield not far from where they currently were. He could contact his father and get permission, then be in the air before his dad realised they had no intention of waiting. His only hope was that despite the head-start Scott and his captors had on them, Brains' modifications would soon make up for lost time.

TBTBTB

Jeff opened his eyes, disorientated. He didn't remember going to bed. But most of the previous day was also a blur; the constant fear was clouding his mind. Swinging his legs off the bed, he sat up but rested his head in his hands, taking a moment to just _breathe._

It was harder than it should have been. He had brought the boys here because he wanted to banish the nightmares once and for all. Instead, his actions had catapulted them straight into one, and this time, there was no reassuring hand to wake them up and promise everything was okay. One thought kept echoing through his mind and Jeff couldn't shake it off.

 _How could this have happened?_

He knew they would be extraordinarily lucky if they found Virgil in time. It wasn't that he doubted his son; Virgil could handle himself and was more than a match for most men. But Blag wasn't most men: he wasn't sane, for one thing. For another, Jeff was well aware that the madman had plagued his middle son just as much as his eldest. It wasn't physical attacks that Jeff was most worried about.

Realising that sitting there, dwelling on what could be happening to his son rather than doing something productive about finding him wasn't helping anyone, Jeff stood.

"Scott?" He moved towards the door, running a hand over his face as he did so. Stubble littered his face and he knew he looked as haunted as he felt. "John? Gordon?"

There was no answer. Jeff's heart skipped a beat. He took another deep breath. Surely they were as exhausted as he was; they were getting some rest while they could.

But he couldn't shake the unease at just how silent the apartment was.

The lounge was empty.

Nausea rolled in his stomach. It wasn't the same fear as with Virgil, the terror that someone had taken his sons from under his nose – again.

It was the fear that they had gone and done something stupid.

The thought lodged in his head and Jeff couldn't shake it. He knew that Scott would do _anything_ to get Virgil back. His eldest would have forbidden the others to come but it wouldn't have worked. John would have calmly stated all the reasons why it would take all of them and Gordon would just follow if he thought he was being left out.

Shoving open Scott's door, Jeff's breath caught. It only took seconds to check the other rooms. They were all empty and the beds hadn't been slept in.

"Oh boys," he groaned. For a moment, he stared around the apartment, wondering what to do. He _should_ call the cops and have the boys escorted home. But he knew the police were no closer to finding Virgil and that his sons were good when it came to getting what they wanted. There was every chance they had found a lead and were on their way to finding Virgil.

Should he risk three sons for one?

Was it even his choice?

Jeff crossed to the door. There was a chance the boys were only just leaving and he could talk to them. Not that he had any idea what he would say.

But the corridor was empty and the boys long gone. Sighing, Jeff turned back, but something caught his eye.

There was something on the floor, hidden in the shadow of the door. He stepped out to get a better look. A sharp pain restricted his breathing as panic – a rare emotion for a billionaire – clutched his chest.

This was all too familiar.

Shaking hands reached down and he picked up the laptop. He wanted to leave it. If he never saw it, he wouldn't have to open it and witness something he was certain would haunt him. He could vividly recall the image he had been presented with last time he had opened a mystery laptop.

But he couldn't abandon Virgil. He _had_ to know.

He checked the corridor again but it didn't reveal anything new: it was empty. Jeff made a mental note to have the security cameras checked; someone had walked up to the door to leave it there despite the supposed police presence. The idea that one of Blag's men had been there, without being detected, filled him with dread. The boys had gone – but what if they had still been there? It wouldn't be the first time that Blag had sent someone back for another Tracy.

He stopped there. His sons had put up a fight as children. The apartment would have been destroyed if someone had tried to force entry and threaten one of them now. Jeff was also certain that he wouldn't have slept through a fight. No one had tried to enter.

But even as he closed the door behind him and sank shakily onto the sofa, another unpleasant thought crossed his mind. The cops were supposed to be watching the apartment. Why hadn't the boys been prevented from leaving?

Deciding to deal with one problem at a time, Jeff opened the screen. There was a frozen image waiting for him and it took him a moment to realise it was a video clip. His hand shook as it hovered over the mouse. He didn't want to see: he had to watch. He had to find out where Virgil was.

He hit play.

Then realised it had nothing to do with Virgil's whereabouts.

Instead, he could see the other three.

They were moving towards what looked like a hangar, their movements cautious even though they were running. He watched as something caught Scott's attention, allowing the other two to pass him as he stared towards the camera.

But then everything happened so fast Jeff wasn't certain he processed what happened.

Gordon and John entered the hangar.

They came sprinting out.

Then the entire building exploded, the force knocking the camera to the ground and causing the picture to go fuzzy.

Jeff's hands were clenched into fists and he was on the edge of the sofa, staring at the screen as he waited for some movement from his sons. Smoke billowed across the screen, a large crack distorting the image because of the force of the camera. He heard shouting, but he couldn't be certain that it wasn't just in his head. If one son could make it, so could the others and he willed himself to hear their shouts and calls.

But no one came into view. There were no clear sounds, certainly no voices. Nothing moved apart from the smoke swirling in front of the camera. Then the screen went black.

Jeff sat back, his strength disappearing and his breath coming in shaky gasps.

Could he have just seen three of his sons being killed?

That was when his cell rang and John's name lit up both his screen and his heart.

TBTBTB

Scott felt himself rocking from side to side, but his sluggish mind couldn't work out how. It wasn't his own doing, as he was trying to make sure he _didn't_ move. He hurt all over. His arm throbbed uncomfortably and he felt blood drying on the side of his face. His mind was woozy and Scott wasn't sure why.

Focusing on the movement allowed some clarity to return and he knew he had to get to his brothers. They needed him. They were hurt or….

Scott managed to lurch to one side, eyes burning as his stomach emptied itself. He told himself that it was the smoke. Then he vaguely remembered being drugged. Any excuse other than the idea that his brothers might be dead and there was nothing he could do...

His movement and subsequent actions revealed there were people surrounding him as rough hands grabbed his shoulders and forced him to roll back until he was flat. Scott tried to struggle and sit up. Didn't they understand that John and Gordon were hurt? That Virgil needed him to hurry up and get there?

"Tie him down," a voice muttered gruffly and Scott's mind cleared.

Of course these people didn't care; they were the ones who had caused the explosion in the first place! Anger flooded him and Scott tried to wrench free of the hands holding him down. The space around him – Scott had yet to work out where he was – lurched dangerously as he moved, but he didn't care. He seemed to be on some sort of trolley in an enclosed space, but all Scott focused on was swinging his legs over the side.

This time, two men grabbed his arms, forcing him down again. Scott struggled, but he was too weak in his current state to be able to pull his wrists free. Another man wrapped a strong arm around his feet, clamping them down and stopping Scott from kicking out. From what he could make out, they were threading thick leather cuffs through the bars of the trolley, one on either side and then another on the end. Once they were secured, Scott's wrists and ankles were wrestled through them, more men adding their weight as he struggled to stop them from doing up the buckles.

It didn't matter what he tried, though - there was nothing he could do to stop them from strapping him down. The men stepped back, panting as they sat down again, leaving Scott struggling in earnest against the restraints. He gave up after a few moments, knowing that he was better conserving his strength. He wouldn't be able to break free of the straps. Falling still, he let his gaze roam around his prison and tried to work out where he was.

As the whole room seemed to wobble, understanding dawned on him. He wasn't in a room, but the back of a truck. He was also certain he hadn't been in the truck the entire time; he remembered regaining consciousness just long enough to feel a familiar swoop in his stomach that could only mean one thing: turbulence. They must have had a plane waiting at the hangar, crossed a few states in it before landing and switching to the roads for the final part of the journey.

Despite the dread forming in his stomach that their destination might involve Blag, Scott felt a surge of hope. Their location – if he knew the way Blag thought (which he thought he did by now) – might also involve Virgil. It was going to be so much easier rescuing his little brother if he was in the same place as him.

Scott would have tried to figure out where he was being taken – planning would be easier if he knew where he was. But, having no idea how long he had been unconscious or in what direction the truck was travelling, Scott knew it was a pointless exercise.

Struggling wouldn't work, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and escape somehow. By rocking his body from side to side, Scott quickly established that the trolley seemed to be actually attached to the truck itself rather than being something they had wheeled in. While that made it harder to break free of it right now, he knew in the long run that it was going to help. They would have to untie him to get him out, meaning that Scott would have an opportunity to escape when they released the straps.

With that in mind, the pilot soon lost himself to the rocking motion of the vehicle. The sedative was still strong in his system and none of the men were paying him any attention. Scott drifted off.

Sleeping allowed his mind the escape that his body was denied.

It stopped him from thinking about John and Gordon's fates.

He wasn't sure how long he slept for, but Scott's eyes peeled open when the truck stopped moving. He instantly tensed under the straps, his entire body rigid as he prepared to fight to get away with everything he had.

The men all stood up, the majority throwing up the doors and jumping out. Scott felt his hands closing into fists, preparing to drop the men the second they unstrapped him.

He was never given the chance.

One of them stepped right up to the trolley and, before Scott could so much as glare at him, forced a gun under the pilot's chin. He was pressing hard, forcing Scott's head to crane up in order to be able to still breathe.

"Listen to me, and listen well, boy. You're about to fight for your life, I can see that. But hear this – every one of my men you hit, I'll deliver that number of blows to your brother. If you leave this truck without my men, I'll shoot him in the head. And don't think you can find him first. I'm in direct contact with someone who is keeping Virgil company, you understand?"

The gun disappeared and Scott stared at him. The man held his gaze before nodding and stepping back. Two more men took his place - one either side - and began to unstrap his hands. When they were free, Scott glanced over at the one with the gun. He was toying with it casually, but raised his eyebrows at Scott's glance. It was obvious he was waiting to see what would happen while the men unstrapped his feet.

Scott wanted to call his bluff, wanted to be able to floor all three men, make a run for it, find Virgil and get away with his brother safe. But it wasn't worth the risk. Even if his captor wasn't in contact with someone else, Scott had no idea where he was. He was certain that he would be the one to be shot if he ran. It wasn't as if these men seemed to care whether he lived or died, not considering the force of the explosion.

But if he was shot, it would mean his father would be no closer to finding Virgil.

He forced the tension out of his body as he was untied and didn't resist as the men hauled him off the trolley. Their grip was tight and harsh, his arms twisted awkwardly behind his back as they bundled him from the truck. It took more effort to not resist than it did to struggle, but Scott somehow remained limp as he was pushed out and forced along. The afternoon sun blinded him. It had been morning when they had stormed the hangar and, despite feeling like he had been out cold for days, Scott knew only a matter of hours had passed.

Their grip didn't lessen as the man with the gun led the way. To Scott's bewilderment, they seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. A large house could be seen in the distance, and a forest just beyond that, but where he was – nothing. They stopped, causing Scott to look down. Set in a concrete slab was a pair of locked doors and Scott knew they would lead down into the earth. The gun was pocketed as a key was pulled free and the doors unlocked. Two men pulled Scott's arms behind him, binding them there as the doors were thrown open.

Scott didn't have time to question anything, however, for a shove in between his shoulder blades sent him falling through the door and rolling down a set of stone steps. He grimaced, his body protesting as he raised his head, attempting to see where he was. He wasn't alone, though.

"Scott?" a very familiar voice breathed, before there came a sickening thud and a groan of pain.


	14. Chapter 14

_Thank you again for the lovely reviews! I hope everyone is sticking with me on this and still enjoying it!_

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Scott's head whipped up at the voice, a sharp gasp escaping him. Despite not being able to see his brother, he would know Virgil's voice anywhere. A large man was blocking his view and even as he watched, the man's arm lowered back to his side. A snarl escaped the back of Scott's throat; this man was responsible for Virgil's pain.

But even as he tried to rise, his body betrayed him. His balance was off as he tried to kneel, alerting the men to what he was doing. A foot pressed against his back, exerting just enough pressure that he collapsed back down again. The foot remained where it was and he knew he wouldn't be allowed to rise even if he physically could.

"Leave him alone!" he yelled, his voice hoarse. The man didn't even look around. Scott fought the weight on his back as the man's arm lifted, clearly preparing to strike again. It didn't matter how much he struggled – he couldn't get up.

But the blow never landed as another voice cut smoothly into the conversation.

"Enough. We need him conscious."

A sharp pain constricted Scott's chest. He also knew _that_ voice. It was the sound that had haunted his nightmares for years, the voice that hadtaunted him night after night, that had driven him to the edge before his family had pulled him back again.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight…

He was in his nightmare again, and there was no waking up.

Then Scott took a deep breath. Virgil needed him. His mind cleared, sharp, cold anger lacing through the fear and allowing strength to flood his body. He didn't have his imagination playing tricks on him this time. This was reality. He was a practical man: he saw a problem, he found a solution, he dealt with it.

He just had to do the same this time.

The large man dipped his head and stepped away. The pilot sucked in a sharp breath when he saw his brother. Virgil was sitting against the wall, his hands tied above his head and his face an array of bruises. He was sitting stiffly, his eyes clouded with the pain he refused to let his expression reveal. Scott knew his brother; Virgil was hurting all over.

Virgil saw him looking, though, and attempted to grin.

"Virg-," Scott's voice was soft. He had no idea what he was supposed to say.

He was never given the chance. The man stepped towards Virgil again, backhanding him sharply before melting back to the shadows. Virgil pulled a face, his tongue gently probing a bleeding lip. Scott, however, looked around as someone stepped forward.

"Was that enough of a lesson for you, Scotty? Or do you need more of a demonstration of what will happen if you don't stay quiet?"

Blag moved from the shadows, stopping next to his brother, his hand entwining with Virgil's hair, forcing him to look up. Scott tensed. He expected to feel nothing but terror facing the man again. It was his fears that had driven them to the mainland in the first place, after all.

But he was too angry. This man had tried to kill him, had threatened and hurt his brothers and then spent years haunting them. Scott didn't have time to be afraid, not when fury was pounding through him. His gaze flickered to the men next to him, his hands tensing in their restraints. All he needed was a weapon…

Virgil gave a soft gasp and Scott looked back to see Blag's grip had tightened. The man was watching him intently and Scott knew his anger was playing out across his face. He forced himself to calm down and let his body relax. The rules were obvious; anything he did would be taken out on Virgil.

He needed a plan to ensure his brother's safety before he tried anything rash.

Virgil's gaze flickered to one side and Scott knew his brother was trying to make him look around. Not entirely sure if he wanted to know, Scott looked and sighed. He had known this was coming, ever since his father received the call from Nicole. But any hope that his friend would have made a miraculous escape was lost as Scott looked over.

Slumped against the wall, clearly unconscious, was Matt.

He tensed again, then looked back at Virgil. Blag was still watching him, a small smile playing across his face as he waited to see what Scott's reaction would be. Scott relaxed and keep his expression neutral. Blag chuckled.

"What did I tell you, Virgil? He _can_ be reasonable."

Scott locked eyes with his brother as Blag let go. He refused to look at the madman as Blag crossed the space between them and he refused to let a sound escape him when a foot drove sharply into his stomach.

When he didn't react, Blag kicked him again, flipping him over before placing his foot across Scott's throat. Instinct was yelling at him to fight back, to do something! But his hands were tied and Virgil was in danger. Blag didn't know who he was dealing with this time and Scott wanted to keep the element of surprise for when he was certain he could win. He glared up at his captor, hatred burning in his eyes.

"I'll leave you boys to catch up," Blag sneered, pressing down before striding for the doors. Scott paid him no attention – he was too busy trying to breathe.

All but two of the guards left with him. The remaining ones were the man who had struck Virgil and the man who had threatened him if Scott didn't behave.

The odds were more in Scott's favour.

He was up before they saw him moving, planning to take them out before they could sound the alarm. But as soon as he got to his feet and lurched towards the big man, he knew he had made a mistake. His body was still protesting from the explosion and the man heard him coming. He turned, his fist sinking straight into Scott's stomach and forcing him back onto his knees, once again gasping for breath.

They took hold of his arms, dragging him across the cellar. Then, to Scott's horror, they looped a piece of rope around his neck and tied it securely to the railing that acted as a safety guard on the stairs.

Scott knew he couldn't get free, nor could he reach either Virgil or Matt without strangling himself in the process. Laughing, the two men left, one shoving Scott as he passed him, causing the pilot to fight to regain his balance in order not to choke.

As the door slammed shut, Scott became aware of just how dark and cold their prison was.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Virgil's voice trembled a little and Scott couldn't work out if it was from the cold, pain or fear. For all he knew, it was a combination of all three, though he knew Virgil would never admit it.

"Rescuing you," Scott muttered, trying to find a way of leaning back to reduce the pressure from the rope. He could tell by Virgil's soft huff that his brother was fully aware Scott hadn't planned for this to happen. It was true he had been attempting a rescue. He just hadn't factored in being taken prisoner himself.

"I saw what happened at the hangar," Virgil said. "John? Gordon? Are they..?"

"I don't know," Scott admitted. He refused to acknowledge the possibility that his brothers might be dead. Surely it would take more than a madman with some explosives to stop them? He needed to keep calm and focused if he was going to get Virgil out, which meant John and Gordon _had_ to be alive. He wouldn't accept any other outcome.

"Where are we?" It was a feeble attempt to change the topic and he knew Virgil would see straight through him.

"Don't you know?" Virgil said quietly. Scott could just make out him shifting against the opposite wall and it hurt he couldn't get to his brother and check him over. He didn't say anything and Virgil continued. "We're back at the start, Scott."

Scott stared. He had guessed Virgil had been taken to Kansas and the fact he had been taken in a plane as well only confirmed those suspicions.

What he hadn't realised, however, was precisely where they were. He thought back to the house he had seen when they dragged him from the van, the forest bordering the edges, and shivered. Virgil was right: he knew _exactly_ where they were. Clearing his throat, Scott tried not to think about it.

"What did they do to Matt?"

"A sedative of some sort," Virgil said. "Blag was boasting about defeating you. I'm not sure he cared whether he took you hostage or whether you died in that explosion, to be honest, as long as he could declare himself the winner. Matt and I weren't just going to sit here. I didn't understand why he was keeping me conscious at first, but now I do."

Scott knew as well. Blag wanted Virgil awake for when he arrived. It would have been painful enough seeing his little brother unconscious, but to be able to talk to him and not help was worse. Scott could hear the pain Virgil was in, his face twisted in a grimace now they were alone. He sighed, leaning his head against the railings. Blag knew precisely how to hurt him.

He didn't realise Virgil was watching him shrewdly in the dim light.

"Where hurts?" Virgil suddenly said, making Scott jump.

"What?"

"I saw the explosion, Scott. Where hurts?"

For once, Scott could be truthful.

"I'm fine." He sighed, shutting his eyes. "I was further away. I saw the camera. I didn't realise what it was but I went to investigate. I wasn't as close when the blast went. John, Gordon…" His voice trailed off and he opened his eyes again, watching Virgil closely.

The frustration on his brother's face was something Scott recognised all too clearly – it was the same way he was feeling. They were back together, yet both were trapped and had no way of knowing if their brothers were alive or not.

"Don't suppose you have your watch on?" Virgil asked, his voice lowering. It was clear he didn't want to risk saying it out loud, but at the same time he needed an answer. Scott sighed.

"I landed on it," he muttered, providing an answer as to why no one had come in to save the day yet. They had no way of contacting anyone.

"What does he want with us?"

"I don't know." But deep down, Scott did. He knew Blag would kill him, even if he took his time doing it. He had tried when he had been a teenager, after all, and keeping a grown man hostage was a lot harder than a terrified child. He hoped it was straight-forward revenge, though, as it gave him a chance to bargain for his brother and Matt.

"We're…we're going to be okay though, right?"

Scott suddenly realised just how scared his little brother was. Virgil had been missing for days now, stuck here with a maniac and knowing he was being used as bait. Unable to escape and barely able to defend himself (it didn't matter how strong Virgil was, Blag simply wouldn't have given him the chance), all his brother had been able to do was wait and be forced to watch an explosion that could have killed three out of his four siblings.

It must have been hell.

"Yeah. We're going to be fine, you'll see." Scott didn't think he had ever lied to Virgil in such a blatant way before. But it was his role as big brother to reassure the younger ones, regardless of the fact they were now adults, and he could tell by the look on Virgil's face that it was working. Virgil wasn't naïve enough to believe him, but just hearing him say the words was enough.

"Are you okay?" the elder brother continued, trying to examine Virgil visually across a dimly lit room. Virgil shrugged the best he could with his hands tied above him.

"I'll live," he muttered, causing Scott to wince. It was a painful reminder that the last time he had seen his brother, Virgil was in the middle of a gun fight, surrounded and outnumbered. He felt a twinge of guilt.

"Virg, I… I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner. I'm sorry I wasn't any help." If he had realised quicker that something was wrong, if he had got down to street level before the fight had got so intense, he might have been able to do something to help! But instead, he had been forced onto the sidelines and kept there, helpless, as Virgil had been taken away.

"Don't, Scott. You know better than me who we are up against. As he doesn't seem to care whether you live or die anymore, you know as well I as do that there was nothing you could have done. One thing I don't understand though… Why take me if he was happy for that blast to kill you? What was the point?"

Scott shifted as he thought about what his brother was saying. It was a good point. It was clear Blag wanted to get revenge on Virgil for saving Scott's life and avoiding being taken hostage himself all those years ago. But why go to all this trouble?

Scott had a horrible feeling he knew the answer.

"He waited long enough to make sure I knew you were missing," he said quietly. "He gave me long enough to know that I couldn't help you, that you werein his hands and there was nothing I could do. He knew he would win whether I lived or died, by having you."

Virgil's face fell. Scott knew his brother would have been aware how much this had been killing him. But hearing him say it out loud was a different matter entirely.

"But he made a mistake," Scott continued, finally allowing the anger he was feeling to be heard.

"Oh?"

"We're getting out of here," Scott said.

Too long had he been losing against this man.

Not any longer.

TBTBTB

John sighed as he turned off the engine, running a hand over his eyes in exhaustion. A smile touched his lips as he looked at his brother. Gordon was curled up on the seat, fast asleep. He didn't seem to notice they had stopped and John was glad. Gordon had been dead on his feet when they had landed so John had insisted on driving. He handled the car rental while Gordon shifted their stuff into the vehicle. John still didn't know why Gordon insisted they took some of the bags despite the plane being secure.

They didn't have much further to go: Scott's signal had stopped. John had followed his brother's tracker while Gordon flew. Scott's plane had come down in an airfield on the outskirts of Kansas and John had directed Gordon to the same place. There had been several small aircraft there, though; their jet stood out in comparison. They knew they were wasting time identifying Blag's craft; Scott had moved. The cops could handle that later. Blag had no reason to suspect Scott was being tracked but they needed to reach their brother before the signal was lost.

John glanced at Gordon before checking the co-ordinates on his cell, his heart hammering fast. He was certain he recognised the area. It was an uninhabited area that John was convinced had remained empty since those devastating events years ago. It made sense: Blag's mind-games still haunted John. But he didn't think the man would have had the guts to go back to the exact same location.

John closed his eyes, resting his head against the steering wheel. Gordon had fallen asleep quickly – it was a trait he had had since they were children. But John hadn't rested, even in the plane. He was exhausted.

But thinking about his missing brothers only left him frustrated, so instead he thought back to the call he had put through to his father.

He was braced for his father's anger, knowing the man would be furious with them for going. John had no idea that someone had sent his father the means by which to watch the hangar explode until the shocked voice on the other end of the line had let out a strangled noise at the knowledge all three of them were still alive.

Once he had calmed his dad down, John had then filled him in on the latest: that Scott was missing as well. John had explained about the bug and even talked his father through how to pull up the signal on the laptop. His father had agreed that they could take the plane.

Well…

John smirked. His father had told them to meet him there and that they would go together. John had told Gordon, and the pair of them had shared one long look before Gordon had put his foot wasn't just that they wanted to get to their brothers. Blag had targeted their father: it was why Scott had been taken in the first place. They had no intention of letting their dad anywhere near the maniac.

His father had cut the call short after that, wanting to get the information to the police as fast as possible. John wondered if he would have stayed on the line longer if he had known his sons were planning to leave him behind.

Something didn't feel right to John. The cops should have already been investigating Kansas – they should be in a position where they could strike as soon as they had a confirmed location – something that John could provide. But the last John had heard, a strike-team was being assembled, miles away, with safety and precautions delaying them. John understood safety – he had directed his brothers through danger zones more times than he cared to admit. But this was _too_ cautious. The men were nowhere near, despite knowing where the plane had landed. John couldn't help feeling he would be waiting for back-up that was never coming.

John groaned, straightening up again as his thoughts returned to the present. He shrugged off his jacket, draping it over his sleeping brother before getting out of the car. Making sure the door didn't slam and disturb Gordon, John stretched and breathed in deeply. The afternoon sun warmed him through. Automatically, John titled his head so the light fell on his face. He always made the most of it while he could – Five's lighting didn't have the same impact.

After stretching, John pulled out his cell. He had promised his father that he would check in when they were closer. Scott had stopped, meaning they were closing in. They were only a couple of miles away – John had only stopped because he wanted to ease his troubled thoughts before leading Gordon into danger.

The phone connected on the second ring. John wondered whether his father had got any more sleep than they had, but knew better than to ask.

" _Where are you?"_

"Close," John said tiredly, leaning against the car and staring off down the deserted road. This had been one of the longest days of his life. Thankfully, his father had already voiced his anger over being left behind and now sounded as drained as John felt. John wasn't in the mood to deal with his father's temper right now. "Gordon's asleep. What's happening with the police?"

" _Now Scott has stopped moving, they are assembling, getting ready to strike. They've told me not to contact them again until it is over, though."_

John understood: the police would want to keep the lines clear for any urgent communication that would directly impact their strike, not listening to a frantic father. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"Listen, Dad, I've been thinking… Are you sure we can trust the police?"

" _They're getting into position to get your brother back. They have more chance than you and Gordon on your own, you know this-,"_

"Who gives the signal to move in?" John interrupted. The thought had been playing across his mind and now he had begun to go down that route, he had to see it through.

" _Why?"_

"Just tell me, please?"

His father told him, but the name meant nothing to John. He groaned, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something.

" _What's the matter?"_

"Dad, how did you get the laptop? One set up with the recording of the explosion. I thought they were leaving someone downstairs."

He didn't mention that he and his brothers had been able to slip past the guard just by going out the back.

" _There was. Two, in fact. One front, one back."_

John grimaced – the cops clearly realised how the Tracys had slipped out.

"Then how did you get it?"

" _John?"_

There was a cautious note in his father's voice now. John opened his door, leant in and grabbed his laptop. Resting it on the hood, he tucked the phone under his ear and started typing. He knew what he was looking for, but it was no surprise he couldn't pull up anything. He was in the middle of nowhere, and his personal laptop didn't get much use these days; he had never installed Brains' updates on it.

"Dad, call Brains. Get him to use Five's systems to find out all that he can about the man leading the strike."

" _Why?"_

"Because I'm not sure he's going to give the signal." John's voice was little more than a murmur but his father heard him and demanded an explanation. He closed the laptop and sat on the hood again.

"They used the police to stop us finding Scott before. It was the cops who tried to take Virg, who…" John trailed off, absently rubbing his shoulder.

But Blag had got away with impersonating the police before and John knew, even in prison, Blag still had contacts.

" _You think he is doing it again?"_

He breathed a sigh of relief when his father spoke. He needed someone else to say it as well, even just to stop him feeling paranoid. He didn't trust anyone that wasn't family right now.

"Why not? Either that or your guard is seriously crap. Dad, whoever this was must have walked straight past him. Or… or he delivered it himself. What if the police are involved in this? Someone knew Matt's location."

" _John, slow down."_

John took a deep breath.

"Just talk to Brains, Dad. We're going after them, and if I'm right about any of this, then the police won't be moving in. They're waiting for an order that won't be coming."

His exhaustion crashed back over him in a wave of lethargy as he spoke. John had been grateful for back-up. Now he knew there was a chance they were doing this alone, and it would be up to him to keep his kid brother safe.

" _Fine, I'll talk to Brains. Johnny, make sure you get some rest before you get any closer. You need to be thinking straight."_

"Will do, Dad. I'll talk to you later."

John hung up quickly. He couldn't say goodbye, not in their usual casual manner. He didn't know what they were going to face, but he knew it would be dangerous. Blag held all the cards and John was aware they could be walking into a trap. He couldn't say goodbye knowing it could be the last time he spoke to his father. John shook his head, banishing the thought. It wouldn't help.

Picking up his laptop, he jumped off the hood and climbed back into the car. He grinned at Gordon, though. Even with a seatbelt on, his little brother had shifted enough to dislodge John's jacket. He reached over, tugging it back up again before leaning back in his own seat.

John checked the door was locked and awkwardly twisted so he could put his feet up. He shut his eyes, despite knowing sleep wouldn't claim him. But he wanted to give Brains the chance to investigate so they knew what they were up against. It was one thing going into this just the two of them. It was another relying on back up that wouldn't be coming. He would let Gordon sleep until Brains made contact, he decided, trying to get comfortable.

Then they would go and get their brothers.


	15. Chapter 15

_Thank you so much for the reviews - and to the three people I couldn't respond to either. I really hope you like this next chapter._

 _Warning: this chapter does contain some violence in the second half._

* * *

The sound of his cell pinging made John glance at the screen and swear violently. Gordon slammed on the brakes, causing both of them to be thrown forward until their seatbelts did their job. Then it was Gordon cursing as he rubbed sore ribs and glared at his brother.

"You know we're in the rescuing business, right, Johnny?" Gordon said, his tone flippant. "Saving villages from earthquakes, a mall from a fire, our brothers from a madman… Any reason you wanted us to crash?"

John ignored him. Gordon had woken, taken one look at him and held his hand out for the keys. John hadn't argued; he was exhausted. It meant that he could concentrate on working out what they were about to walk into and wait for Brains to make contact: he hadn't put his phone down for hours.

"John? What is it?"

John suddenly realised that, despite ignoring Gordon's teasing, he had also offered no explanation for his initial reaction. Gordon was staring at him, his face pale. John swallowed.

"We're in this alone."

"What do you mean?"

John filled Gordon in on his conversation with their father regarding the cops. Blag might have been covering his tracks and the police might have encrypted databases, but John knew Brains was up for the challenge. With not one, but two Tracys in danger, it would fuel their friend more than any pep-talk could. Brains wouldn't give up.

Considering the data now currently showing on John's phone, Brains' perseverance had paid off.

"The captain has been receiving payments for the last ten years. Small amounts, stuff that won't show up, but it's built up. Brains' tracked it – and had to go halfway way around the world before he found the source. It's coming from somewhere in Russia."

"Wasn't Blag-?"

"Using the Russians? Yes. He's been using them to buy cops. The police – the genuine ones - are all in position, waiting for an order that isn't going to come."

"What do we do?" Gordon wasn't the type of person to let his nerves show. Considering what they did for a living, it was a blessing. He was the one who could stay totally calm no matter how bad things got in a rescue. Scott freaked, Virgil got a stony expression - and Gordon carried on like he was going for a stroll through the park. John knew bad rescues hit Gordon harder than the other two though, and both Scott and Virgil were needed when they got home to reassure their younger brother. While there was a job to do, however, nothing fazed Gordon.

John couldn't ignore the tremble in his brother's voice. He leant over, squeezing the back of Gordon's neck. Gordon smiled tightly, but the tension didn't ease. John didn't blame him. He was loathe to deliberately put his little brother in danger but knew Gordon wouldn't accept any reasoning or arguments that he presented. Deep down, a small, selfish part of him needed Gordon there. He couldn't do this alone.

"We stick to the plan," John said. He sat back, gesturing for Gordon to start driving. Gordon, however, stared at him.

"Are you mad?"

"No. I'll contact Dad and get him to put in some calls. Think about who he is, Gordon. KPD will listen to him; Matt built that department before he moved to the city. Dad's poured funds into them over the years. As long as it's only the captain accepting bribes, we can work around that."

"What if it isn't just the captain?" Gordon asked, his voice quiet. "What if someone else is involved and they tip Blag off?"

"He might accelerate his plans," John whispered, the implications of what he was saying horrifying him. His hand clenched into a fist.

"You mean-?"

John nodded and Gordon swore. He fumbled for the keys, started the engine and then almost stalled again as his hands shook. John put a hand on Gordon's shoulder.

"Breathe, Gords. We can only help them if we actually get there."

He tried to mimic Gordon's previous casual tone but his heart was thudding hard. Blag didn't know about their technology. He might not even realise they would figure out about the police corruption. But he _did_ know their family. John knew Blag had set up the explosion in order to take Scott, meaning he had guessed they would come for Virgil. Blag would know they were on their way.

Blag had been playing them from the start; using Virgil to lure out Scott. He had planned this methodically and John wondered if they had actually figured out any answers on their own or whether Blag had given them just enough evidence to work with. But if he was aware that the rest of the Tracys would be moving in, he would have planned for that eventuality. They were running out of time.

John glanced at Gordon. His brother had got the car started again, only his knuckles were white from his grip on the steering wheel. John didn't say anything, though. Anything that came out of his mouth would be a false reassurance and he knew Gordon would see straight through him. The last thing he needed was for Gordon to be angry at him.

He opened his laptop so he could monitor any further communication from Brains while calling his father. He suspected his dad already knew – Brains probably had sent the information to both of them. He hoped that things had already been set into motion as he knew it would take his father a while to convince the cops it wasn't a hoax.

The conversation went exactly the way John suspected it would: his dad insisting that they wait until they had back up en-route and both John and Gordon flatly refusing. When Gordon calmly pointed out that Scott had been in one place for some time now and every moment they wasted was a moment more likely that Blag would move on – or kill Scott – their father had no comeback. John knew he wasn't happy, but he was too far away to physically stop them. He couldn't even call the cops on them; that was the crux of the matter as it was.

Jeff had started making calls before John connected. By the time he hung up, John was convinced that they would be receiving back up after all, it would just take slightly longer than anticipated.

"Johnny?" Gordon still sounded nervous and John looked up from his screens.

"Yeah?"

"What if the cops try to connect with their captain to get to the bottom of it all?"

John didn't say anything. He stared at Gordon. This time, he didn't have an answer. He had been so focused on ensuring the cops were on their side he hadn't thought about internal communication within the department.

If the police made contact with their captain, there was every chance he in turn would call Blag. If Blag was tipped off that his cover with the cops was blown, John knew full well who would bear the brunt of his anger. Asking for back up, _insisting_ on it, meant he could have just signed Scott and Virgil's death warrants. A single call could be all it took and John was too far away to do anything about it.

"Call Dad again," Gordon said, tersely.

"Why?"

"He needs to talk to the cops."

"He's just done that."

"He didn't tell them I'm about to break every speed limit in the state."

Gordon put his foot down before he finished speaking. John hung on as the car lurched forward before the movement became smoother. Only this time, the scenery was whipping past the window and he didn't dare look at the speedometer as they shot off.

But just this once, he didn't care. If that was what it took to get to their brothers before it was too late, then that was what they had to do. Gritting his teeth and decidedly not thinking about the fact he felt sick, John picked up his phone again.

TBTB

Regardless of how determined Scott was to free himself, his restraints didn't let him.

If it was just his hands, he would've been fine. He either would have freed himself or made it across to Virgil, showing Blag once and for all their teamwork.

But the rope around his neck was doing its job well. Almost too well. Everything Scott tried was limited by knowing if he lost his balance, he would be in trouble. Virgil eventually snapped at him to stop struggling after Scott slipped and he was forced to listen to his brother choking before he managed to get his knees under him and regain his balance properly. The rope dug painfully into his neck and Scott knew that, unless he was careful, it would be easy to slip too far.

Knowing Virgil was right, Scott settled himself in a position where he could continue to work on the knots while propped against the wall, reducing his chances of falling. The two brothers were quiet; there was nothing to say. Scott knew any reassurances would be a lie and Virgil wouldn't stand for it.

Scott had no idea how long they had been in the dark. All he knew it was that it was dim, damp and cold, and that Virgil seemed to be shivering far more than Scott was happy with. He knew from what Virgil had already told him that his brother hadn't been down here for the whole time but he also knew that if a rescue didn't hurry up and happen, then Blag wouldn't need to do anything to finish them off, the conditions would do that on their own.

A sound drew his attention from his morbid thoughts and even as Scott shifted, Matt coughed again and his eyes opened.

Virgil instantly twisted awkwardly, his arms straining. He began coaxing Matt back to alertness and Scott was struck by how many times he had heard his brother do this. Day after day, they dealt with life and death situations. Both of them were used to saving people, not needing rescuing themselves. Scott hated it.

Virgil's voice was as calm as ever and Scott realised his brother had slipped back into his rescuer role. Scott was glad. Virgil might be able to deal with their situation better if he detached himself emotionally – for the time being – from what was happening, just the way he did on a hard rescue. They had all learnt that lesson the hard way, but Scott was grateful if it meant Virgil was calm now.

"Look who decided to drop in?" Virgil's voice drew Scott from his musings. He looked over as Matt noticed him.

"What are you doing here?" Matt demanded. Scott would have laughed if the situation had been any different.

"Your wife said you were supposed to be on bedtimes tonight and getting kidnapped doesn't get you out of it?" Scott said, avoiding answering the question. Matt knew why he was here; he knew the sort of things that Blag would have planned.

Matt laughed weakly but Scott could tell by Virgil's face that the conditions were beginning to get to him. They had to get him out of there.

They _all_ had to get out of there.

"How you doing, Matt?" Scott asked softly, not certain what he was supposed to say. He wished he could at least move around; the forced stillness was beginning to get to him and he started fidgeting again.

"I'll be better when I've actually done my job and got you two out of here," Matt mumbled and Virgil laughed. None of them knew what to say. No one wanted to admit what was running through their heads because their situation was looking bleak. The Tracys had never been ones to give up, but Scott couldn't stop the wave of helplessness from crashing over him. For the first time in a _very_ long time, he had no idea what to do.

Either his thoughts were playing out across his face, or Virgil knew him too well.

"The others are coming, Scott," he said, his tone adamant. "They're not dead and they are on their way with John yelling at Gordon to stop driving so recklessly. We're going to be alright."

"I thought I was supposed to be the one to be reassuring you?"

"Yeah well… always thought you were a bit of a control freak when it came to the whole reassuring rights. We can share you know."

"We can, can we?" Scott was smiling. Virgil always knew what to say to take his mind off what was going on. The hopelessness eased away, courage seeping into its place once more.

"You two are never going to change, are you?" Matt muttered, the amusement obvious in his own voice.

"Nope," both Scott and Virgil answered at the same time, and for a split second, Scott could imagine they were anyway but in a crypt, being held by a maniac.

His relief, however, was short lived. No sooner had they spoken when light suddenly flooded in as the door opened. Scott tried to push himself further back against the wall, making sure it wouldn't be easy to knock him off balance. He looked around only when he was certain he was stable.

Blag stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at his prisoners as if he couldn't believe that he was hearing laughter. Two men flanked him, cutting off the light straight away. If anything, Scott decided he preferred the darkness. His eyes had grown accustomed to it and Blag couldn't use it as a distraction.

Blag walked slowly down the steps, sneering when he saw what Scott was doing. It didn't matter how close to the wall the pilot had pressed himself, as Blag reached across and seized the rope around his neck. He pulled forward sharply and, with no way of maintaining his balance, Scott fell.

He didn't hit the floor, however, for Blag's grip tightened as he twisted his wrist. Scott let out a gasp before he could cover it up, desperately shuffling forward. After the longest moment of his life, he managed to support his own weight. Coughing sharply to try and get the air back into his lungs, Scott didn't notice the two men had also walked down the stairs and were approaching Virgil and Matt.

"Leave him alone!" Virgil yelled, fear obvious in his voice as Scott gasped for breath.

Scott looked up sharply when he heard the tell-tale sound of a blow being delivered and saw one of the men step back from his brother. Snarling, he wrenched at the ropes – both around his neck and wrists. Blag chuckled, giving him some slack and allowing Scott to lunge forward. But just as he thought he would be able to make it to Virgil, Blag pulled sharply. Scott didn't stand a chance as he was hauled back, crashing down on his back. He lay where he landed, panting. He should have known there was no way Blag was going to let him go to Virgil, but he had to do _something_ to get the men away from his brother.

"Leave the kid alone!" Matt shouted and Scott got his breathing under control just in time to hear a solid punch land and Matt grunting in pain. Awkwardly, Scott made it back into a kneeling position, convinced he felt blood on his neck from the rope digging in. Virgil's alarmed look indicated he was right.

"You've always been protective of them, haven't you, Officer?" Blag asked, his voice silky yet menace dripping from every word. He walked forward, allowing the rope to have more slack as he did so. Scott bunched his muscles but didn't dare move. He knew Blag wouldn't let him and he couldn't help Virgil or Matt if he couldn't breathe. Instead, he shuffled forward to stop the rope from pulling.

"But you couldn't save them before. And you can't save them now. You can't stop me from doing this…"

Scott yelled out as one of the men struck Virgil again.

"Or this…" Blag continued, moving behind Scott and pulling up sharply. He put one hand on Scott's shoulder, enough to stop him from rising. Instead, he could feel the rope tightening around his neck, restricting his airway.

Only this time, Blag wasn't letting go again.

Scott choked, trying to do something, _anything_ , in order to allow air back into his lungs.

" _STOP IT!"_

Virgil's scream echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and multiplying until it was ringing in Scott's ears long after his brother had actually finished. Scott heard Blag chuckle, low and deep, as the rope tightened a touch more.

Eventually though, he threw Scott away from him, letting go of the rope completely. Scott knew why. He wasn't going to be offering a fight any time soon when he could barely breathe.

"Scotty?" Virgil sounded tentative, almost as if he wasn't sure whether he wanted to know the answer to the question Scott knew he was asking. Scott shakily sat up, meeting Virgil's gaze.

"I'm okay," he muttered, eyes widening at how hoarse his voice was. Virgil grimaced, but neither of them could do anything about it.

"How sweet," Blag mocked, moving forward. His fingers threaded through Virgil's hair until he tightened his grip and wrenched the artist's head back. "But I would be more worried about yourself if I were you."

"Leave the boys alone!" Matt interrupted, his voice calm despite the situation they were in. Just as Virgil had slipped into his rescuer role, Matt was sliding back into the mindset of a police officer with a duty: protecting Virgil and Scott.

"Boys? You still think of them as the children you mistakenly saved all those years ago? I hear you have children of your own now, officer. Twins, am I right? Another little one with a fourth on the way? And you got more than a promotion out of everything, didn't you? Got yourself a nice secretary to keep the bed warm. Saved the day and got the girl; you must have been so proud."

Scott watched Matt closely. He could see the man was glaring at Blag, clearly trying to not react to his goading. But Scott noticed the way he paled at hearing Blag knew about his family. He didn't blame him. How much did Blag know about them all – both the Tracys and Matt's family?

He caught Virgil's eye and knew the same thing was running through his brother's head. The man might have sources everywhere, but both brothers were convinced that if he knew about International Rescue, he would have commented on it by now. It would have been risking too much otherwise, especially considering the technology at their disposal. For now, Scott was convinced their secret was safe.

But that didn't make their situation any less deadly. In fact, it made it more so. They had nothing to bargain with.

"But I'm forgetting myself. I came down here to give you boys a history lesson." Blag stepped away from the wall and Scott sagged in relief, glad there was now space between the man and his little brother.

"Do you know where we are? There used to be a church on top of this old crypt, but it was knocked down years ago after it ran out of money. No one was interested in the crypts though, so they just left them to rot. An underground river flows right by. I guess they assumed that water would eventually get in and flood the place. But what they didn't know was that this place was too well-built; it had been designed to hold back water. Unless, of course, something like this happens…"

Blag nodded to his men and they both moved into a far corner of the crypt. There was barely enough light to see what they were doing, but the ominous sound of stone scraping made Scott force himself into a kneeling position. Blag laughed again, taking hold of the end of the rope. He didn't put any pressure on it though, he just used it as a way of keeping Scott still.

No one spoke as the men worked, although Scott traded worried glances with Virgil.

Eventually, there came the unmistakeable sound of a trickle of water and the men stepped back. It was barely more than a drip, but there was no denying water was coming through the wall.

Scott didn't get the chance to say anything before Blag grabbed him by the upper arm, yanked him to his feet and spun him around to face the wall.

"Which one?"

"What?" Scott spat, trying to hide how hard his heart was pounding.

"Which one do you want to save?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Why do you think I took them both, Scotty? You see, now you have a choice. I'm a considerate man-" one of his lackey's punched Virgil hard when the artist snorted "-and I'm giving you the chance to save your little brother. I know how much you always want to. Well, now you can. Just say his name and Virgil will be walking out of here. Of course, your police friend will have to stay here."

"You're mad," Scott whispered, and he knew that everyone could hear his voice trembling. Blag couldn't be serious? He honestly expected Scott to choose between his brother and their friend?

"Maybe. But pick one."

Scott shook his head, and, instantly, there was a gun pressed to it. This time, however, he smirked.

"Go on then, shoot me. I'm not playing your game."

"Oh no, Scott, it won't be you we shoot." Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Blag nod to his men. They both pulled out weapons and moved on Virgil and Matt.

"We'll shoot them. Not enough to kill them, just enough for them to drown in agony. You see, you pick one or I kill both. I'm being fair here, I'm giving you the chance to save someone."

"No…" Scott whispered, glancing over to where the water was still trickling in. Even buying time wouldn't help; Virgil and Matt were chained to the wall. If Scott thought he had been feeling helpless before, it was nothing compared to now.

"Very well." Two guns snicked as they prepared to fire, the men taking aim.

"NO! Don't…. don't shoot…" Scott swallowed hard, his heart racing as the men backed away. There was no way he could let either of them get shot.

"You know the longer it takes, the more chance I'm going to take back my generosity and just kill them both."

"Scotty…"

Scott's eyes snapped to Virgil to see his brother offering him a small smile. "It's okay, big brother. You know what you have to do."

"No…"

"Scott, listen to me. I know you know, and you know that I would make the same choice because it is who we are. The others will come for me."

"Don't hold your breath," Blag sneered, before chuckling. "Or better yet, do, might save drowning for a few seconds longer. Make your choice."

"Scott, don't you dare…" Matt seemed to realise what Virgil had been implying, but the artist cut over him.

"He's got kids, Scott. Don't let what happened to us happen to Nic and the kids."

"Scott, please, no…"

"If you don't pick him, I will never forgive you." There was a note of finality in Virgil's voice.

Scott felt a single tear run down his face. The bottoms of his feet were beginning to get wet where the water had trickled in. If he saved Virgil, it would be at the cost of not only Matt's life, but their bond, everything that made them who they were.

But could he pick Matt either, knowing that meant sentencing Virgil?

"Your time is up. Say a name or I start shooting."

Realising he had indeed run out of time, Scott whispered a name even as his heart broke.


	16. Chapter 16

_Thanks again for the great support with this!_

 _Just as a little warning... I might have made myself cry writing parts of this... Just thought I'd put that out there..._

* * *

The men moved faster than Scott could think. He was in a daze, one thought tumbling through his mind continuously.

 _This couldn't be happening_.

He looked at Virgil, catching his brother's eye. Virgil gave him a small smile and a soft nod. Scott didn't need words to know what his brother meant: Virgil was telling him he had done the right thing.

Blag twisted the rope around his hand as his men advanced on Matt, keeping Scott back. His lackeys unchained Matt's hands from the wall but left them bound together. Two took hold of his arms, drawing Matt to his feet and starting to force him towards the steps.

Matt, however, had no intention of going quietly.

"Don't do this!" He struggled against the hold, his loud voice echoing around the room. "You've played your game; Scott did what you asked. Let Virgil go, let them _both_ go!"

Blag gave a sharp nod and one of the men slammed his gun into Matt's head. His eyes widened in surprise for a second before he slumped, the men's tight grip on his arms stopping him from sinking to the floor.

Scott's mouth was open in a yell he never had time to exclaim. He turned on Blag.

"What was that for?"

"He's played his part: I don't want to hear him whining about it. He's alive, isn't he? Thanks to you. The same can't be said for Virgil. Your brother is going to die, Scott, and it's your fault."

"Don't listen to him!"

Scott glanced over and saw Virgil fighting against his restraints, his expression furious.

"It's not your fault - you _know_ it's not. It's him, it's all him and if you dare think otherwise, I'll…" Virgil pulled a face as he trailed off, uncertain of how to finish his threat. Blag had no intention of leaving Virgil alive for long.

"I'll come back and haunt you," Virgil eventually said and Scott gave a weak smile at his brother's attempt to lighten the impossibly dark situation. "This isn't your fault, Scott."

"How sweet," Blag sneered. The tension left the rope but before Scott could move, a cold blade pressed against his wrists. To his surprise, the ropes were cut and Scott brought his arms in front of him, rubbing the chafed skin.

"What are you doing?" he muttered. Uncertainty was more terrifying than Blag's threats. The man raised an eyebrow.

"You seem to be under the impression that I'm some heartless beast. You have two minutes to say your goodbyes."

Unable to stop himself, Scott glanced at the entrance. He couldn't run, but still he automatically started judging whether he could get Virgil out quicker than Blag could react.

But Blag gave a signal and one of his men drew his gun on the unconscious Matt.

"I can still change my mind and just shoot them both. Time's ticking. I wouldn't waste it if I were you."

Scott had no choice. Deep down, he knew he couldn't save them both. If he sacrificed this time to say goodbye to Virgil, he would never forgive himself. The last words he had shared with their mother had never left him: this would be no different.

He wanted to say something comforting, something that would help his brother. He didn't know what. The only thing he was aware of was how painfully hard his heart was thudding. Breathing hurt and, for the first time in a long time, panic threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't lose Virgil: couldn't let his brother down after swearing to their mother he would keep them safe. He had _promised_ her, seen her last smile as she believed he wouldn't let her down.

He had failed.

Ignoring Blag, he moved to Virgil. The men pulled Matt up the steps behind him but Scott knew the officer wasn't out of danger yet. Not until Blag knew Scott was doing as he was told.

There was nothing he could do.

He crouched next to his brother. Two minutes didn't give him nearly enough time to say what was going through his mind, but his voice wouldn't cooperate anyway.

"Virg, I'm sorry," he whispered, resting his hands on his brother's shoulders. He glanced around and saw Blag looking the other way. His hand shot to the restraints, tugging. He snarled as they refused to give, changing his grip and trying again. He couldn't sit here and do nothing!

"I'll kill them both, Scott," Blag called, without looking over, and Scott shut his eyes in defeat.

"It's okay, Scotty," Virgil whispered.

"It's not." Scott wanted to lash out and rage, but he couldn't let Virgil see him like that. Instead, his voice was flat. "I don't know what to do."

"I do." Virgil's voice shook and he swallowed hard. "Be the big brother you've always been? I'm…"

Virgil's voice dropped, making sure Blag couldn't hear him. "Scott, I'm scared."

Scott softened, letting go of the anger – for now. He aimed for a reassuring smile and tightened his grip on Virgil's shoulders. He had spent his life soothing Virgil's fears – from monsters under the bed to disastrous rescues. This was something he knew how to do, regardless of the situation.

"Don't be," he said, willing his voice to remain steady. It did – just. "Look at the speed of that water. You've got hours. You said it yourself: the others are coming. You're going to be fine, kid."

Virgil glanced to where the water was trickling through and he shakily nodded. But Scott's reassurances weren't enough this time. They were up against the man who had haunted them both for years – and they were losing. Scott's words didn't have the power to banish Virgil's demons this time, not when said demon was standing in the same room as them.

Virgil also knew what Scott was doing – he had asked it of his brother, after all. False reassurances might have worked when they were children, but Virgil had always been able to see straight through him, more than any of their other brothers and more than their father. He couldn't lie to Virgil. But Virgil took a deep breath, sat up a little straighter and nodded.

"You're right." Virgil's voice was barely audible and Scott felt him shudder. He wondered how long until shock caught up with Virgil: he had been at Blag's mercy for days now and instead of a rescue, Scott's arrival had just made everything worse.

"'course I am; I'm me."

Virgil looked at him with a raised eyebrow and Scott attempted to grin. Then Virgil rolled his eyes and managed a shadow of a smile. Scott's attempt had been pathetic, but it had worked.

"Time's up, boys."

"No, wait, please…" Scott didn't care that he was begging. He hadn't said any of the things he needed to say. Blag was already walking towards them though.

"I said two minutes."

Scott swore; Blag had no intention of giving them longer.

He didn't know what to do! They had got out of difficult spots over the years, a solution miraculously appearing just in time. Only now, there was nothing. No miracle, no rescue, no way out.

Scott's only hope was that the rest of the family were on the way. He refused to think that they might be dead. He didn't acknowledge that, apart from the hangar (which he now knew had just been a trap and not a lead), they didn't know where to start looking.

If he could keep Blag distracted, maybe they would be able to reach Virgil in time? He had to believe that.

Virgil gave an involuntarily shudder. Scott looked at him.

"I'm cold," Virgil muttered. Scott could see the lie in his eyes, but he wouldn't undermine Virgil's bravery.

Not knowing what else to do, he whipped off his jacket and awkwardly draped it around Virgil's shoulders, slipping it between the wall and his brother.

"What are you doing?" Suspicion lined Blag's voice but Scott shot him a dark look.

"Exactly what it looks like; I'm giving my brother my jacket. Got a problem with that?" He didn't care anymore. Blag had won, and he knew it. There was no way Scott could get Virgil out. Blag wouldn't have Matt killed just because Scott was rude.

The jacket was too little, too late, though. Virgil had been down here for too long. But it wasn't in Scott's nature to sit by and watch one of his brothers suffer. If he could give Virgil even a small amount of comfort, that was precisely what he was going to do. Virgil wouldn't admit to being scared again, not with Blag in earshot. But he _had_ admitted to being cold. It was the only thing left Scott could do to help – he was going to make damn sure he did it.

Scott turned back to Virgil, his hand curling around the back of his brother's neck. Virgil was watching Blag with wide eyes over Scott's shoulder.

"You have to get away from him, Scott. Promise me?"

"You just focus on keeping yourself alive until the others get here, you hear me?" Scott said gently, squeezing Virgil's neck.

"Scott…"

"Shh," Scott soothed, resting his forehead against his brother's. Virgil's eyes closed at the contact and Scott suddenly found it hard to breathe past the sharp pain in his chest.

"Time's definitely up," Blag snarled, moving forward and wrenching Scott back.

Scott didn't look away from Virgil even when Blag yanked his arms behind him and locked handcuffs around his wrists. He tensed, but still didn't look away. Virgil also maintained the eye contact and Scott tried to smile reassuringly.

Blag's men reappeared. While Blag took one of Scott's arms, another man took the second. The third, however, moved to where the water was trickling in.

Scott felt the colour drain from his face as the man lifted a leg and kicked at the stone. He did it again, then again. On the fourth kick, a large chunk of stone fell away. He then reached forward and used his hands to pull away a few more pieces. Virgil gasped and Scott felt his horror.

What had been a gentle trickle of water was now a gushing flow.

"NO! Virgil!" Scott struggled furiously against the hold. He had promised his brother time: time to be found, time to be rescued. He had been convincing himself as much as Virgil that there was still a chance of getting out.

Virgil would now be lucky to have ten minutes. Certainly not enough time to get himself free.

"You can't do this! Virgil!"

"Scott!" The fear was apparent in Virgil's voice and Blag laughed.

Scott saw red. He fought with everything he had, momentarily breaking away from the men. He took a step towards Virgil before hands grabbed him and hauled him back. The man in the corner tore lose another chunk of stone before striding back towards Scott, taking his arm as Blag let go. The madman drove his fist into Scott's stomach and the three of them forced him from the crypt while Scott caught his breath.

He still had no intention of leaving his brother.

" _VIRGIL!"_

Scott's voice was a roar. It didn't matter though; Scott recognised that Virgil had been telling the truth about where they were. There was no one nearby to help.

He tried to lunge back towards the doors but Blag got there first. He made a show of first closing, then locking them.

" _NO!"_

Blag turned, smiling. Scott shook his head. Virgil wasn't just his brother. He was his best friend. The person who kept him grounded, kept him sane while Scott tried to shoulder the weight of the world. Without Virgil, Scott had no idea who he was.

He couldn't lose him.

"Please," Scott begged, "let him go. I'll do anything, just let him go."

"You see," Blag said conversationally, walking back towards him. "There is the Scott I know. Let the true you show, Scott. Let the whimpering coward out."

Scott swallowed. Pleas weren't going to get him anywhere.

Anger took over.

"I'm going to kill you," Scott vowed darkly. He kept eye contact with Blag, refusing to look away. "However long it takes, whatever hell I go through to achieve it, I am going to kill you."

"Perhaps," Blag shrugged, looking unconcerned. "But it's fair to say that I've killed your brother now, isn't it?"

There was a maniacal gleam in Blag's eyes that hadn't been present before. Now, more than ever, he looked truly mad.

"Take him down," Blag ordered. Scott didn't have time to react before the two men whipped his feet from under him. He couldn't break his fall in time and he crashed to the ground.

One of the men followed him down, a hand gripping his hair and wrenching Scott's head to one side, exposing his neck. The other crouched in front of him and Scott glanced away at the sight of the needle Blag handed over. He couldn't look at it. Blag's laugh made Scott aware that his tormentor knew precisely the reason behind his fear. But there was nothing Scott could do other than wince as the needle was inserted deep into his neck. He felt the contents emptied and the men back off.

He knew why. They weren't needed to hold him down any longer, his limbs already felt heavy and lethargic. There was a sprawled figure lying on the ground just visible in Scott's eyeline and he knew it was Matt. The van that had brought him here was nowhere to be seen.

Within seconds, his eyes were fluttering despite Scott stubbornly wrenching them open. For some reason, he felt it was of the utmost importance to keep looking at the door, almost as if Virgil was going to come suddenly bursting out of it.

But no one appeared.

"Virg…" Scott whispered brokenly before finally slumping. He blinked once more, and this time his eyes didn't open again. The tension left his body as he collapsed against the ground. He didn't feel the two men grab him under the arms and drag him across the ground as Blag led the way across the field, leaving Virgil behind.

TBTBTB

The car skidded across the field, bumping and jolting the occupants violently. Gordon had his teeth gritted but he didn't slow. A large house was visible on the horizon and he knew they had finally arrived. The tracker still hadn't moved and Gordon prayed they were moments away from stumbling across Scott. Deep down, he hoped Virgil and Matt would also be there, but he kept quiet. John could be realistic on the side of pessimism at times and Gordon didn't want his budding hope crushed.

"Stop here." John said suddenly. Gordon looked at him. If John wanted to stop because he couldn't take the motion any longer, Gordon intended to ignore him. But he could tell by John's expression that his brother was planning and Gordon slammed on the brakes. The car jolted to a stop.

"They'll hear us coming," John explained. "We're close; we'll go the rest of the way on foot and hope we can keep the element of surprise."

Gordon nodded and got out. It would only take them five minutes to cross the distance by foot, but hopefully no one would hear or see them coming. John also got out, finally putting his laptop in the back of the car. But as John made to move, Gordon held out a hand.

"Wait a sec," he muttered, moving to the far side of the car. John muttered something under his breath but Gordon ignored him. His brother had been armed with technology up until now, and it had got them this far. But now it was Gordon's turn, and he wanted something with more firepower.

He opened one of the bags he insisted they brought with them, revealing two handguns. They had lost their weapons at the hangar – Gordon assumed Scott's kidnappers had taken them while they were out cold.

"Where the hell did they come from?" John exclaimed, clearly also thinking about their lost guns.

"Scott," Gordon muttered. He picked them up and offered one to John.

"Scott?" John didn't take the gun, instead staring at his brother. Gordon sighed and stuck it through his belt, tested the weight of the other one and began walking off. He didn't have time to stand and explain and knew John would follow him.

"We were going after Blag and Virgil. You think Scott would waltz up and ask nicely for our brother back? He had back-ups. There's probably back-ups of back-ups in the other bags."

"How did you-?" John fell into step with him.

"Know? I know more about you guys than you give me credit for."

John didn't answer and Gordon knew he had made his point. They glanced at each other and broke into a run without a word.

The house got closer and Gordon's adrenaline drowned out any stiffness from the car, plane and explosion. It felt good to have a gun in his hand. They had been on the backfoot for so long now and Gordon fully intended to end it all, today. His imagination might have played tricks on him for years when it came to Blag, but it was reality that had haunted his brothers and Gordon was determined to put a stop to it.

"We can't just walk through the front door," John suddenly said, slowing his pace. Gordon matched him and shrugged.

"Why not?"

John gave him an exasperated look: Gordon always took the direct approach while John found another way around. It was how they had both been their entire lives.

"We'll find a back door," John said. "If we want to get to Scott first, we can't be seen."

"We're going to sneak up to a house with open fields surrounding it, hope no one is looking out the window, then find a conveniently unlocked back door so we're not heard and search the house until we find Scott without anyone finding us first?"

"Any better ideas?" John said and Gordon sighed.

"I like it," he lied.

He was certain Scott would have had a plan. But Scott wasn't here…that was the problem. John was silent - Gordon could tell by his face what he also thought of the plan. Scott was in that house though. They were going in, one way or another, and neither of them would suggest otherwise.

They sped up again. They didn't have a solid plan; it didn't matter if they barrelled straight in or attempted to slip in silently. Gordon knew they were making it up as they went along. He blamed spending too much time around John when he started to wonder what would happen if they just found the tracker and no Scott.

Looking up, banishing the thought, Gordon skidded to a stop, throwing out an arm to catch John around the chest. His brother stopped with a sharp curse.

"There's someone there," Gordon breathed. He flicked the safety off the gun and squinted, trying to work out what he was seeing. His initial reaction was that it was someone taking aim at them. But now he wasn't sure. The figure wasn't moving and there was no sign of a gun.

In fact, there was no sign of life at all. John clearly had the same thought, sprinting forward.

"Scott!" John yelled.

"John, wait!" Gordon charged after his brother. There was no point aiming for subtlety now; anyone could have heard their shouts. Gordon didn't take his eyes off the figure, eventually coming to the conclusion that the person was both unconscious and bound. Gordon didn't have time to be grateful it wasn't someone lying in wait for them.

"It's not Scott," he muttered, more to himself than John as they both kept moving. They drew level with the figure and John dropped to his knees without answering Gordon.

"Matt," John breathed and Gordon felt sick when he saw his friend. John instantly felt for a pulse and Gordon didn't dare breathe. John finally gave a shaky nod and Gordon could exhale again.

"He's alive. Badly hurt and his pulse is erratic, but he's alive," John said.

Gordon ran a hand over his face. It wasn't Matt's condition that had him on edge. If Matt – who was little more than a bystander in the scheme of things – was in this state, then what hope was there for his brothers?

He looked away from Matt, examining the area. He first looked at the house, anxiously scanning the windows. Matt could have been left there as bait and even now, someone could be taking aim at them. But no one was there.

What did draw Gordon's attention, however, was a pair of heavy wooden doors. They were set into the ground, their angle indicated they led down into some sort of cellar. Gordon dared to hope: if it was a cellar, there might be an entrance into the main house from it.

"I've found us our back door," Gordon muttered, nodding to the doors. John looked up.

"That's nice," he said, distracted. John didn't look around but pulled something out of his pocket.

Gordon stepped forward. The device was the size of the pen but he knew it was far more than that. He glanced at his brother. They had insisted there could be no connection to International Rescue; they couldn't give Blag that sort of leverage. But just as Scott had made sure they had weapons, John had brought his own gadgets. The laser was thin, but powerful, and the cuffs snapped open within a moment.

John pulled them away, easing Matt's arms to his side again. The man's breathing instantly eased, making Gordon suspect a broken rib.

John started checking Matt over. Wanting to stay out of the way, Gordon crossed to the doors. They were locked and he rested his hand on the wood, wondering if it was their way in. Gordon suddenly became aware he could hear something and he pressed an ear against the wood. He could hear running water, and a lot of it.

Gordon frowned and looked down. A trickle of water was beginning to seep under the door. The cellar – if that was what it was - was flooded. But that made no sense… Unless…

"John, we have to move!"

"Let me make sure he is stabilised and then I'm with you, Gords… Gordon?"

Gordon yanked on the doors again, swearing.

"Gordon, what are you doing?" John was already moving towards him as he spoke, confused.

"He's in there! Scott's in there!"

Gordon grabbed his gun and fired at the lock. His aim was true and the lock splintered. Gordon wrenched open the door and both brothers swore as they stared in horror at the flooded room below them.

"Someone's down there!" John suddenly shouted and Gordon realised he was right. There was a dark shape just visible through the water. As John took a step back, clearly preparing to do something, Gordon reacted. One hand shot out, grabbing the cutter before he dived straight in.

He knew diving in, with no idea how deep the water was or what was waiting for him, was stupid. But he also knew there was no time. He hoped he missed any steps leading down and was relieved when he didn't collide with anything solid. In a few strokes, he came to the dark figure, and almost swallowed water as an involuntarily exclamation escaped him.

It wasn't Scott.

It was Virgil.

Wearing their brother's jacket.

Gordon didn't think about what it meant. He activated the laser, directing it at the manacles holding his brother prisoner.

To his horror, it didn't work, the resistance of the water reducing the power of the beam. Growing angry, and refusing to consider they were already too late, Gordon jabbed the button furiously. The beam flickered again. Finally, on the fourth attempt, the cuffs gave way. Only one had come free, but it was enough for him to grab Virgil and launch them both towards the light again.

As his head broke the surface, Gordon instantly flipped so he was on his back, Virgil's head resting against his chest.

"Gordon!" Following John's voice, Gordon pulled Virgil towards the door, feeling the steps bumping into the back of his legs. He stood as soon as he could. He was now close enough for John to reach forward. John got his hands under Virgil's shoulders and pulled his brother out. Gordon scrambled out after them, barely noticing he was shivering.

"He's not breathing!"

"Move!" Gordon shoved John out of the way. John went without protest as Gordon tilted Virgil's head back, pinched his brother's nose and breathed hard. Alternating between breathing and pressing on Virgil's chest, Gordon slowly began to lose strength as the cold got to him and his brother still lay there, unresponsive.

"Come on, Virgil!" Gordon yelled, thumping his brother. To his utter surprise, Virgil jerked, water spilling from his mouth as he coughed harshly. John darted forward, helping roll Virgil over so their brother could empty his lungs. Virgil ended up half-sprawled across Gordon's lap. Gordon rubbed his back reassuringly.

"We're here, we've got you…"

"Scott…" Virgil breathed, his voice weak. He slumped against Gordon and as John rolled him back over, they saw that Virgil had passed out again.

"John?" Gordon whispered, wondering if they were too late after all. John already had his hand against Virgil's neck. John breathed a sigh of relief, squeezing his eyes shut before looking Gordon in the eye.

"It's alright, Gords. We've got him. He's alive."


	17. Chapter 17

Ignoring his shaking hands John grasped Virgil's wrist. The soft beat under his fingertips made him exhale sharply, shutting his eyes in relief.

 _Virgil was alive._

John shrugged off his jacket, pulling Scott's away and draping his own over his brother. Virgil was cold, soaking wet and unconscious. But it was the only thing John could do right now to help. He shifted until his brother's head was resting on his leg, combing his fingers automatically through Virgil's hair, brushing it away from his face.

"You're going to be okay," John promised quietly, knowing Virgil couldn't hear him.

Gordon was sitting, one hand holding him upright as he slumped. There was a faraway expression on his face, as if he had zoned out but John knew differently. Gordon was struggling to understand – and John didn't blame him. They had followed Scott here, and found Virgil and Matt, but not Scott.

John had no answers for Gordon this time. Scott had been here – his jacket was the reason they had found Virgil. But John didn't know what had happened since, or what happened next.

Gordon suddenly stood up.

"What are you doing?"

"Scott might still be here," Gordon said. The gun was back in his hand and he was staring at the house.

"Gords-,"

"Virgil is alive!" Gordon snapped. "He wasn't underwater for more than a few minutes – it would have killed him otherwise."

John shuddered even as Gordon shut his eyes, collecting himself. They had been far too close to that outcome. John's grip on Virgil tightened.

Gordon took a breath, then continued. "The water must have come in fast. If it was Blag-,"

"It was!" John couldn't believe Gordon could even doubt anyone else was behind it. Not considering where they were.

Gordon glared at him. "- and not one of his henchmen," he continued. John winced – he normally knew what Gordon was trying to say - "then why not drown Matt? Why leave him up here? He must have known there was a chance Matt would come around in time to get to Virg."

"What are you getting at?" John said slowly. He thought he knew but he wanted Gordon to say it out loud.

"He did it for a show. We know Scott was here," he nodded to the discarded jacket. "He was with Virg. Blag would have made Scott watch."

"You think they're still here?" John knew – more than Gordon – what that would have done to Scott. His hand had returned to monitoring Virgil's pulse, terrified his brother would suddenly stop fighting. But Scott didn't know they had been on their way: Blag would make him think Virgil was dead. Scott would have no reason to doubt him, not if Gordon was right and he had seen the water.

"We haven't looked in the house yet," Gordon said grimly. But as he took a step forward, John reached up and grasped his arm.

"You can't go in there."

"Scott's still alive!" Gordon exclaimed, his grip on the gun turning his knuckles white. "Blag doesn't know we're here, Johnny. This is our chance."

"He'll be armed and guarded," John muttered. He was already sliding out from under Virgil though. He couldn't let Gordon in that house. He knew it was luck that had allowed them to save Virgil and he couldn't risk Blag getting hold of another little brother. Luck didn't last forever. Scott had drilled big brother instincts into him since Virgil was born; his brother would kill him himself if he knew John had let Gordon walk into a situation without checking it out first.

"But-,"

"If you're right and Scott just saw Virg die, then Blag would have gone to some pretty extreme measure to stop Scott killing him right here. We don't know who is in that house. Stay with Virgil; I'll check it out."

He held out his hand for the gun, having no idea where the second one had gone. Gordon glared at him, tightening his grip and opening his mouth. His arguments would make sense – he had military training, he did more field work – but they all would fall short against John's need to keep his younger brothers safe.

But Gordon never got the chance to voice them.

A noise made him break off, both of them looking around at the sound of an engine. John swore – he didn't know in what language – recognising the sound of a helicopter. He couldn't see anything though.

"Around the house!" Gordon broke into a run but skidded to a stop after just a few paces. The helicopter crested the house and both brothers stared at it helplessly.

"Scott," John whispered, his voice cracking. The helicopter gained altitude and John couldn't look away. Could Scott see them? Did he know they had reached Virgil in time? His gut told him no: Blag wouldn't let Scott have that sort of hope. But his heart wanted it to be true. Scott would fight if he knew Virgil was alive. If not… John knew what his brother's nightmares were about.

"Take cover!" Gordon suddenly yelled. He sprinted back towards them, grabbing Matt's prone form and dragging him towards the house. The wall offered them some cover and John followed his lead, moving Virgil. He bent over his brother, making sure he was between him and anything that might come their way.

The spray of bullets tore up the ground where they had been. John winced, but Gordon leapt forward, returning fire with a hoarse yell. Their guns didn't have the range to reach the helicopter, but Gordon didn't care. John flinched, wanting to drag Gordon back to safety, convinced rapid fire would find its target. But he couldn't leave Virgil unprotected.

"Gordon!"

Gordon had always been lucky though, and this was no exception. He sprinted after them until his gun clicked and nothing else happened. He swore and tossed it away, slowly returning to John's side. John didn't move, staring at Virgil.

They had saved one brother only to lose the other.

He had no idea how he was supposed to tell Virgil that Scott had still been here and they hadn't got to him.

"What now?" Gordon asked, his tone flat.

"He might still be in the house," John muttered, pulling out his cell. The look on Gordon's face revealed he believed that as much as his brother did. But John ignored him, tapping a few buttons. It connected immediately.

" _John?"_

"Dad…" Hearing his father's voice suddenly made John realise how exhausted he was.

" _What's the situation?"_

John could tell how hard his dad was trying to hold it together.

"We didn't find Scott," he muttered, his eyes locked on Virgil. "We found Virg."

" _Is he alright? Is he hurt? Let me speak to him."_

"You can't, Dad."

" _Put your brother on the phone. Now."_

John gripped Virgil's wrist again as he explained the situation. Saying it out loud was worse; he kept a tight grip on his brother, reminding himself Virgil was alive. He tripped over his own words as he told his dad they had just missed Scott.

The silence when he had finished deafened him. John looked up and saw Gordon watching him, his expression grave.

" _What else has he done to them?"_

John ignored the way his father's voice shook. He was thinking the same; if Scott and Virgil had indeed been together and parted in such a way, John knew the physical damage could be nothing compared to the psychological.

" _Stay with Virgil."_ This time, his father's voice was steady; the man was back in control.

"But-,"

" _There's nothing you can do for Scott now and you know it."_ While sympathetic, his father's tone brokered no arguments. " _Stay with your brothers. Keep them safe."_

"I-," John didn't know what he wanted to say. Virgil – and Gordon's – safety was his responsibility. He wouldn't dream of leaving them. But he couldn't just sit here.

" _John, the cops can be trusted. I've sorted it. I'm on my way: I left as soon as I could. The police are on their way and they will help you. Remember Paul?"_

"Matt's old partner? The one who-,"

" _Got shot helping Scott, yes. Matt recommended him for sheriff when he started working for us as an agent. They've pulled the captain off the case, made some excuse about him being needed elsewhere. It will sound legit. If Blag's gone, it might not matter now. But Paul's now in charge. Get help for Virgil. That is your priority, you hear me?"_

"Yes, sir," John muttered. The call ended – there was nothing more to be said until his dad was on the scene.

"We need to get Virg to hospital," Gordon said quietly. His soft tone spoke volumes to John, though. His brother wasn't calm. He was absolutely fuming and wanted to be taking his anger out on the person responsible.

"Help's coming," John murmured, outlining his conversation with their father. He turned back to Virgil instead, although without equipment and supplies, all he could do was make sure his brother was still breathing.

They hadn't been waiting for long before Gordon said his name, his voice urgent. John looked up as Gordon moved, only now hearing approaching footsteps. Gordon dived forward, snatching something up from the grass before coming up into a tight crouch. John blinked. He had wondered where the other gun had gone.

"Freeze!"

John did the opposite: he leapt up, swearing. He had told Gordon that help was coming, but his brother was on edge, not thinking straight. They had been fooled by the cops before, after all.

Gordon aimed steadily at the man who had appeared. His uniform gave him away and, despite knowing his father had the situation under control, John's heart still skipped a beat. The officer had his own weapon aimed at Gordon.

"Drop it!"

"Gords, it's okay." John moved forward slowly even as Gordon rose to his feet. He put a hand on his brother's arm, forcing him to lower the gun. The officer mirrored their movements, holstering his own gun and closing the distance between them. Gordon was tense, but John prised his fingers off the weapon and tossed it back into the grass.

"John?"

The man sounded uncertain and John studied him before nodding. If his father hadn't warned him, he would have never recognised Paul. He didn't remember a lot about his stay in the hospital or Scott's initial rescue: pain had clouded most of those memories for him. Unlike Matt, they hadn't stayed in touch with Paul.

"Paul?"

"You've spoken to your Dad, good." Paul smiled at them, taking in Gordon's confused expression. "You were just kids back then, I didn't think you'd remember me otherwise. You're Gordon, right?"

Gordon glanced at John, who nodded. He had already said Gordon's name in front of Paul. The man was trying to put Gordon at ease, realising that he still looked as if he was about to dive for the discarded gun again.

"My boys are searching the house right now. You can trust them. The paramedics are also en-route. Are you boys okay?"

John suddenly realised that he and Gordon had positioned themselves in such a way as to shield the unconscious men from unwanted eyes.

"We are. They aren't," he muttered, moving to one side.

Paul swore. "Help is on its way," he promised. A voice called for him before he could say anything else.

"My team need me. I'll catch up with you at the hospital once we've done a thorough sweep here. Promise me one thing? One of you stay with Matt until Nic gets to him?"

John didn't react but Gordon nodded. Both of them watched Paul hurry off. The medics were crossing the field and John dropped back to his knees, once again cradling Virgil's head on his lap. Gordon squeezed his shoulder before crouching beside Matt.

The medics arrived, splitting into two teams. Two converged on Matt, but John could only focus on the ones who had crouched next to him. Their hands reached for Virgil, but John didn't let go.

"We need to take him, son." The voice was reassuring but John didn't hear him.

He wasn't sitting in a field holding his unconscious brother. He was several years younger, trying to get through a shut door, desperate to get to Virgil's side and knowing he had been the one to tell his brother to talk to the cops. That had been the last time John had allowed officials to take Virgil from him and he still bore the scars from what had happened that day. Involuntarily, his grip tightened on Virgil and he shook his head.

"It's alright, you can stay with him. No one is going to make you leave… it's your brother, right?"

The paramedics would have been briefed on the situation. The man's calm voice was a tone John recognised; how many times had he uttered the same reassurances? But he couldn't move away.

"He's going to be right here. But I need you to let go for me? Can you do that? Just give me enough space so I can help your brother. I know you want that."

It didn't matter what John wanted: what mattered was keeping Virgil safe. An irrational fear took hold and John couldn't physically let go of Virgil, even though he knew he needed to. They had lost Virgil. Then they had lost Scott. John was convinced if he let go, even for a second, Virgil would vanish again.

He saw the medics exchange exasperated glances. But someone else got there first.

"Johnny, c'mon, man, let them do their job. Don't be one of those jerks getting in their way; you know how annoying that is." Gordon's tone was light but his grip was firm as he forced John to let go, drawing him to his feet and taking a few steps back.

The medics reacted as soon as John stepped away. He watched numbly as they started checking Virgil's vitals.

"You good?" Gordon said softly. John shakily nodded. He couldn't believe how close he had come to losing it and after just promising his father he would look out for his brothers as well!

"I'll go with Matt," Gordon continued, looking towards their friend. "Paul's right: he shouldn't be alone. They won't let two in with Virg and I'd rather not walk."

John smiled weakly, grateful to hear Gordon sounding more like himself. He hadn't calmed down, but he was dealing with those emotions. They both knew – although neither would say it out loud – there was nothing they could do for Scott. Now Virgil was in safe hands, adrenaline was fading and John couldn't think straight, let alone come up with ideas to track Scott down.

The medics had got Matt onto a stretcher and Gordon took a step towards them. He turned before he reached them, though.

"Stay out of their way," he warned, "or I'll get Dad to ground you."

John smiled. Threats of being grounded hadn't worked when they were children. But now, it was the best threat they had against each other when one was being more stubborn than usual. None of them would voluntarily give up going on a rescue. The fact that Gordon still believed they would be operational was enough for John to take a deep breath and force his usual control over his chaotic emotions.

He watched Gordon fall into step with the medics as they started carrying Matt from the field. He watched them for a moment, before blinking. Cops were everywhere, including a few dog handlers, and he hadn't noticed. He could imagine the look Scott would give him for not paying attention and that, more than anything, helped him pull it together. Scott needed him to be focused and John – just like the others – always wanted to live up to his big brother's expectation of them.

He needed to get Virgil to the hospital. Not just because of his injuries, but because it would be safe there. Alan was safe while at school – it had some of the best security money could buy. His father would have briefed whoever needed to know and his youngest brother would be guarded, probably despite his protests. But Scott was missing. John wanted his two remaining brothers where he could see them, and that meant in the same place.

"We're ready to move him. Are you staying with him?" The paramedic's tone had softened now John had stopped getting in the way. Virgil was also on a stretcher and John nodded, his eyes locked on his brother. He was so pale: it made the bruises look even more vivid.

The men hoisted the stretcher into the air. John reached out, tweaking the blanket that had been draped over Virgil. He hated feeling useless.

"How is he?" he asked softly. He could co-ordinate a rescue from deep within space and not bat an eyelid. But asking about his own brother made his voice shake. The medic smiled at him.

"He's a fighter," he said simply. No one knew the extent of Virgil's injuries. They needed the equipment a hospital offered before they would know what his brother had gone through. John had to believe that they had been on time: they had got Virgil breathing, they had got him back. They would deal with anything else once they knew what they were facing.

They reached the ambulance in no time and John stayed out of the way as they secured Virgil. One of the medics moved to the front while the other stayed to monitor Virgil's condition.

John took the indicated seat, only now realising he had picked up Scott's jacket again at some point. He had no recollection of doing so. He slipped his hand into the pocket, taking hold of the tracker. Keeping his hand concealed under the fabric, John rolled the small device between his fingers. He had had no idea when he had put it there what it would lead him to.

He wondered if Scott knew it was there and that was why he had left his jacket with Virgil. Or whether it was sheer and utter luck that meant Virgil had been left with the one thing that meant he could be saved.

Scott would have done anything to get Virgil away from Blag. He wouldn't have cared about what happened to him. The fact that he had failed scared John more than the idea that Blag had his brother out there somewhere. Scott had _never_ failed at protecting them for as long as John could remember.

They hadn't stood a chance from the second they decided to go to the hangar. There was no telling what Virgil had been through and John knew it was luck that meant his brother was alive. Would that same luck stretch to Scott or had the Tracys used up more than their fair share already?

He had no idea what hospital they were going to or even how long they were in the ambulance for. He didn't look away from Virgil, but his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. When the vehicle came to a stop, John looked up, startled, as the medic started preparing Virgil to be moved.

John stepped out of the ambulance, intending to keep out of the way while Virgil was transferred, then not leave his brother's side. Gordon was waiting for him on the tarmac and John knew he wanted to be by Virgil's side just as much as he did. If Gordon hadn't offered to go with Matt, John had no idea what they would have done.

But as Virgil was wheeled past, Gordon took hold of his arm, stopping John from following him. John stared at him.

"I have to stay with Virg."

"They won't let you."

"Gordon…"

"C'mon, Johnny… They've already banished me from Matt's side. They'll call security if you don't let them do their job and as hilarious as it would be if you got arrested, I'm not being the one to tell Dad."

Gordon's tone was the same as before; his attempt to lighten the situation. But his grip on John's arm didn't relent, even as they watched Virgil be taken inside.

John took a small step after them and then sighed. Gordon was right. Again. They had been on the other end of this situation so many times – it was frustrating when someone got in their way. Virgil did more fieldwork than either him or Gordon and John knew his brother would give him hell if he knew John had caused the same problems he spent every rescue complaining about. He had to trust the doctors.

That didn't mean he liked Virgil being out of his sight.

"I need a coffee," he muttered, beginning to follow them in. Gordon stuck close, and John knew his brother didn't trust him not to try and follow Virgil after all. He would have been offended if the thought hadn't crossed his mind! He had taught Gordon half of his tricks, after all, including how to make a quick getaway. They would all try something similar but Gordon knew him too well and John knew there would be no shaking his brother until their father was on the scene and back in control.

"I think Dad made a pit-stop and picked Nicole up on the way," Gordon said, taking the lead and directing his brother towards a coffee machine. Following Gordon's attempts to make light of things, John raised an eyebrow.

"A pit-stop? And Dad wondered where Alan was getting his ideas from. Have you been filling the kid's head with crazy ideas?"

"Crazier than wanting to go to space?" Gordon retorted and John smiled tightly. Their words were flat, empty and hollow compared to the normal banter between them. But even pretending to banter helped John to breathe a little easier. He had to clear his head if he wanted to be able to track Scott.

But before he could even think of doing that, he needed Virgil to wake up.

Neither of them spoke after that. John stared at the coffee machine as if it was in a different language. He didn't want one as much as he thought. He couldn't let the silence remain though; neither of them was ready to deal with their emotions and not speaking made John dwell on the dark thoughts running through his head.

He cleared his throat. "Where did they take Matt?"

"That way somewhere," Gordon gestured vaguely over his shoulder. "I think they wanted to do some scans because of how long he has been unconscious for and the fact he has suffered at least one blow to the head."

"Gords?" John put a hand on his brother's shoulder, "he's going to be alright, this is Matt we're talking about."

Gordon looked up, his eyes swimming with emotion. John knew it wasn't Matt making Gordon's voice tremble.

"He was underwater, John."

"And you got him out. You got him breathing again."

"But he wouldn't have known we were coming. Hell, he may not know we're alive. I couldn't call out when they took Scott. I've been in that position. Watching the water coming in and knowing there was no way out and that no one was going to get there in time…"

John rested his hand on Gordon's shoulder, gripping it reassuringly even as his brother's voice trailed off.

"When he wakes up, you can tell him that. You'll be there to help him get through it."

"How?" Gordon demanded, pulling away. "How are we supposed to tell him that we got there in time to save him, but were literally seconds too late to help Scott? Scott was in that helicopter. He'd think Virg had drowned and we were dead and he'd blame himself and…"

"Stop." John gripped Gordon's shoulder again, not letting him pull away. Just as he had lost it back on the field, now Gordon couldn't keep it together any longer. But just as his brother had done for him, John was determined to help Gordon through it. "Just stop. He won't blame himself because he will know we're alive."

"What?"

"They shot at us, Gords. Scott will be kicking their asses even as we speak for daring to think of pulling the trigger. He'll know we got there in time to save Virg. Scott is going to be fine."

Gordon didn't answer and John knew why. His younger brother knew as well as he did that nothing worked out that simply, not for them, and especially not when Blag was involved. But what else was John supposed to say? The same doubts were running through his head and, although he felt guilty for thinking it, he wasn't sure Scott could fight Blag. Not considering the hold the man already had over his brother's mind.

Time blurred. They asked after Virgil repeatedly and were turned away. John lost track of the number of coffees he got just as something to do. He tried running searches on his cell, but his hands shook. He told Gordon it was the coffee.

Eventually, though, there came the voice John had been longing to hear.

"Boys?"

John momentarily closed his eyes, relief coursing through him. Gordon closed the distance between them and their father before John had stood up.

He saw the man pull his fourth-born into a fierce hug, knowing exactly what his son needed. John watched them, envying Gordon's ease with physical affection. But that didn't mean his dad didn't know how to reach him as well and when the man clasped his arm tightly, the pressure in John's chest finally eased.

John sagged at his father's reassuring grip. He wasn't in charge anymore; he didn't have to hold it together. His dad was here, and John felt that was the best thing that had happened all day. If anyone would get answers, it was Jeff Tracy.

"Where's Nic?"

"Ordering someone to take her to Matt," Jeff said, steering them back the way they had come. "I've already asked; they haven't got any news on Virgil so far apart from him being stable."

"When are they going to know? When is he going to wake up?"

John was glad that, this time, it wasn't up to him to calm Gordon down. He didn't know how to make it better for his brother, not when he wanted to demand the same answers in the same tone of voice.

"When he is ready," their father answered calmly. "You know Virgil, he doesn't like getting out of bed for anything. He's probably just having a nap as we speak. But before he does wake up…"

"What?" John stared at his father suspiciously, stopping in the middle of the corridor. His dad and Gordon also stopped, but Gordon moved to stand next to John.

"You can't do anything for him while he is unconscious."

"We're not leaving," John said. His stance and tone made it clear he would fight with everything he had to stay by his brother's side.

"I wouldn't suggest it." Jeff had directed them back towards reception and he nodded to something behind them. John looked over his shoulder. Two nurses were waiting and John knew precisely where this was going.

"Dad, no."

"You were caught in that explosion as well. I need to know you two aren't hiding anything from me. You've just raced halfway across the country and god knows what else. Give your old man some peace?"

"We're fine…"

"Honest, Dad…"

"Enough, boys! I almost lost Virgil today. We have no idea where Scott is. Please? For my sake, get checked out."

John wanted to carry on protesting but he caught Gordon's eye and the younger man shook his head. John, too, had heard the desperation his father was trying to hide. He needed them to do this for his sake more than theirs.

"If Gordon gets chucked out by security for hitting on the nurses, it's not my fault," John muttered, giving in. "And Dad..?"

"I'll come and get you the second I hear anything," his father promised. John knew that would have to be good enough for him for now and he dragged Gordon towards the nurses.


	18. Chapter 18

_Everything hurt._

It was the only thought echoing in Virgil's mind.

Breathing made his chest hurt, his head pound and his throat burn. He wanted everything to go black again.

Eventually, more thoughts began to filter through. Surrendering back to the darkness was bad; being unconscious was never a good thing.

But right now, Virgil just wanted everything to stop hurting. Even the most gruelling of rescues hadn't left him feeling like this.

He couldn't open his eyes; that action was beyond him. He lay still, concentrating on his breathing and trying to ignore the pain.

It then dawned on him that he was, indeed, lying down. By now, he was convinced he was alive - it would be a cruel joke to wake up dead and still be in this much pain.

But how was he lying down?

One of the last things he remembered was straining against the chains, still slumped against the wall as the water had risen to his chin. He tried not to dwell on the _very_ last thing he remembered: the water continuing to rise.

His fingers twitched as he thought about where he had been. Virgil realised they weren't suspended above his head any longer but resting comfortably by his side. They brushed against something soft and he managed to move them again to confirm what he was feeling.

He wasn't in the crypt any more.

"Virg?"

Virgil frowned. That was his father's voice; he was certain of it. But that couldn't be possible… could it? He fought to open his eyes, his body rebelling and refusing to perform even that simple action. He heard a grunt, a distant and muffled sound, then realised it had come from him as he tried – and failed – to look around.

"Easy, son," the voice soothed, accompanied by the feeling of a hand brushing through his hair, "it's okay. You're safe. You're at the hospital."

Virgil relaxed at both the touch and the words. He lay there, focusing on breathing for a moment. But as he relaxed, he realised he could see a slither of light. Now he had stopped fighting against himself, his eyes were starting to open of their own accord. Virgil would have blushed at the whine that escaped him next if he'd had the energy, but he never knew simple things could be so hard!

Still, that didn't stop a whimper as his eyes opened and he flinched at the bright light. It was too much like the spotlight that had stopped him from recognising his captors when he had first been taken. He screwed his eyes shut but the light dimmed. Virgil looked again and realised it had been angled away from the bed. He could look around properly.

"Dad?" His voice was little more than a whisper, but it was hoarse and rough. Virgil swallowed, then grimaced as that also hurt.

"Virgil."

Virgil had never heard his father sound like that. Vulnerable; afraid; _old._ He slowly turned his head, trying not to wince, until he could look at the man.

As he did so, however, relief flooded his father's expression. He smiled at his son and for a brief moment, Virgil felt overwhelmed. Although he had tried to tell himself that he would escape, deep down, some part of him had accepted that he wouldn't see his family again. Seeing his dad sitting there, watching over him, made his breathing hitch again.

He was just grateful the man didn't ask the question Virgil knew he must be thinking: how was he feeling. He couldn't answer that even if he wanted to – his entire body felt as if it didn't belong to him right now.

"Scott?" Virgil whispered, knowing his voice wasn't up to anything louder. If he was here, in the hospital, then it had to mean that his big brother was here somewhere. There was no other explanation. But his father's expression closed down and panic overtook Virgil.

"Where is he?" he said, his voice desperate as he tried to rise. His dad's hand was on his shoulder and it took no effort to keep him down.

Scott _had_ to be here. Nothing else made sense. Virgil had no idea if John and Gordon had survived the explosion and his dad was looking so grave that he couldn't tell by his expression. If Scott hadn't escaped, then Virgil had no idea how he was alive.

"Dad-," Virgil whispered - _begged_ \- staring at the man. He needed his father to tell him everything was going to be alright, just the way he had before when they were young. He needed him to say that Scott was still with them, that they hadn't lost him to Blag.

But when his father spoke, they were the wrong words: "I'm sorry, Virgil."

" _No!_ " Virgil fought – against his father, against the blankets, against the tubes currently trailing into his arm that he hadn't even noticed. A machine started beeping as Virgil thrashed, but he ignored it. His dad didn't understand: if Scott wasn't here, it meant that Blag still had him. If that was the case, then his brother would believe Virgil was dead. He knew too well what that would be doing to Scott.

He had to find him, had to tell Scott that he was okay and that it wasn't his fault. He had to-

Virgil sucked in a ragged breath, trying to think straight. All that happened was he was driven to a coughing fit as his throat protested and another monitor started beeping.

His father moved until he was perched on the bed, his hands resting on Virgil's shoulders, forcing him to meet his eye.

"Virgil, listen to me."

Virgil shook his head, struggling to breathe. Scott couldn't be gone. Not again. He couldn't go through this again – although Virgil was no longer certain if he was thinking of Scott or himself. He couldn't lose his brother to that madman again.

"Virgil."

His father's tone was reassuring and Virgil listened to it even if he didn't want to. He didn't want to calm down, but his father's presence grounded him. There had been so many tough occasions in their lives, from their childhood to running rescues, where his dad's voice was the only thing that had kept him going.

Virgil focused, but jumped when he realised there was someone else in the room. The doctor was standing at the end of his bed, a firm expression on his face. He then noticed that one of his father's hands had left his shoulders and was gesturing for the man to stay back. Virgil took a breath, understanding what was going on. If he didn't calm down, the doctor would give him something. He needed to stay lucid.

It took a moment, but Virgil collapsed weakly back against the pillow, numbness overtaking the panic. The doctor gave him a long, measured look before leaving. Virgil knew he wouldn't be gone for long, not now his patient was conscious again.

"He's gone?"

"We will find him, Virgil," his dad said, pure conviction in his voice, "I promise."

"Dad-," Virgil looked away before forcing himself to meet the man's gaze. "John, Gordon, they-,"

"Are currently fighting over who gets the en-suite at the hotel across the road."

Virgil blinked. "What?"

"Virg…son…" Jeff squeezed Virgil's shoulder. "You've been out for two days."

"But-," His confusion was obvious in his expression.

"You drowned, Virgil," his dad said gently. "Gordon only just got you breathing again."

"I…drowned?" He _knew_ he had felt the water closing over his head and shuddered. He refused to think about it. He had been trying to refuse to accept it, not understanding how he was alive if that had truly been the case. His father winced but nodded.

"But-," Virgil frowned as he tried to piece things together. "I saw the explosion. Scott told me he was further away; he didn't know if the others were alive."

"They survived," his dad said. "They survived and were coming after you, coming after Scott, within an hour of the explosion."

"But, how-?"

"You were missing," Jeff said gravely, "and we knew about Blag."

Virgil frowned, then remembered with a jolt how his father and brother had been behaving when he had gone to get a drink on that fateful night. Scott was convinced the man was hiding something – now Virgil realised what that something was. His dad had known Blag had broken out.

His dad sighed, running a hand through his hair at Virgil's blank expression. "John wasn't going to let Scott do anything rash."

Virgil stared at the man. Then a soft exclamation escaped him as he realised what his father was implying.

"John bugged him?" He said quietly. His father nodded softly and a smile began spreading over Virgil's face.

"You know where he is?"

"No."

"No? But-,"

"John did bug him, Virgil. But it didn't lead your brothers to Scott. It led them to you. It saved your life."

Virgil tried to process what his father was telling him. Scott hadn't done anything to be able to pass the bug on. Besides, Virgil knew his brother would have given him some sort of sign if he had known it was there; technology was a greater reassurance than false promises. Scott hadn't said anything though; he hadn't known. Virgil's eyes went wide as he realised the only plausible explanation.

"He gave me his jacket," Virgil whispered, his voice trembling, "if I hadn't said I was cold…"

"You would be dead." His father said it bluntly, but his voice cracked and Virgil wondered how close to dying he had come.

He could remember desperately trying to draw a few more breaths of air, then the panic when he realised he couldn't. He remembered… _no…_ Virgil slammed mental barriers around his thoughts. He refused to think of anything that came after that. He couldn't, not his dad said he had been unconscious for two days and he wondered how touch and go it had been. His dad was pale and drawn, exhaustion obvious in the slump of his shoulders. Virgil knew the man wouldn't have left his side in those two days.

Virgil shifted. He was tired and in pain but had no intention of being told to go back to sleep. "Are you okay?" he muttered, hoping to deflect his father's attention elsewhere for a few moments.

Jeff laughed, a hollow, disbelieving sound. "You're the one who drowned."

"You're the one sitting on a hard, plastic chair," Virgil argued. He wondered what it was doing to his father to once again be sitting beside an unconscious son, waiting to hear if he had been pulled from the water in time.

His dad leant forward, clasping one of Virgil's hands in his own. Virgil hadn't noticed the bandages wrapped around his wrists until now and knew fighting against the restraints for so long would have left their mark.

"I thought I'd lost you," his dad murmured, his voice soft and broken. Virgil couldn't meet his gaze – he truly hadn't been expecting to make it out of that crypt alive.

"Takes more than a creep to get rid of me," he muttered, his voice falling flat. It would be better if he had helped save himself, but Virgil was painfully aware it was sheer luck, and nothing else, that meant they were even having this conversation.

"I'm okay, Dad." He shifted position again. "What about Matt?"

A flash of guilt shot through him that it had taken until now before he had considered what had happened to his friend.

But his dad didn't get the chance to tell him. The door opened and another voice cut into the conversation.

"You're kidding me, right?" Gordon drawled, stepping into the room. "I sat there for two days, killing my back by the way, waiting for you to wake up. I go out for five minutes and what happens?"

Virgil slumped back against the pillows as sheer relief coursed through him. His father had told him that his brothers were alive, but it was only upon seeing Gordon standing there, an indignant expression on his face, that Virgil finally believed it. His brother looked as drawn as their father, despite his casual tone, but he was standing there, breathing, _alive_.

Gordon smiled softly at him, his expression mirroring Virgil's thoughts.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Virgil responded, watching as Gordon spun a chair around and straddled it. He didn't know what else to say – events were tumbling over themselves in his mind as he grasped the fact that his brothers were indeed alive.

"Where's John?" their dad asked, standing up as he did so. Virgil was not the only one to notice how stiff the man's movements were if Gordon's concerned expression was anything to go by.

"Fussing over his hair?" Gordon shrugged. He caught Virgil's eye and winked. "He's on his way."

Jeff nodded, reaching for his jacket. "Stay with your brother, Gordon," he said, "I'm going to get a coffee and find the doctor."

Virgil rested back against the pillows, absently wondering how much caffeine his father had consumed over the last two days. Even over the entire time he had been missing. The man looked exhausted.

Gordon, however, twisted, reaching out a hand to stop their dad from going any further.

"Dad, wait," he said. His voice was soft and serious, a complete contrast to his earlier drawl. The look in his eye – from what Virgil could see – reflected that. Their father stopped, glancing between Gordon and Virgil.

"What?"

"Get something to eat?"

Jeff didn't respond but left the room. Gordon let out a sigh and turned back around. He rested his arms across the top of the chair and grimaced.

"I never could get him to listen. How do you guys do it?"

Virgil didn't answer. He might have been the one in a hospital bed, but his brother looked ready to drop and Virgil wondered what they had been through. There had been the explosion, then no doubt a rush across the country to try and find Scott. He didn't know if his brother was hurt or just exhausted. But considering half an hour ago he hadn't even known if Gordon was alive, Virgil supposed that was progress.

After a moment, Gordon realised how closely he was being watched. He squirmed in his seat, avoiding Virgil's gaze.

"What?" He sounded so much like their father that Virgil almost smiled.

"You look like crap," Virgil said. Gordon stared at him, then burst out laughing. There was a hysterical edge to it, though, and Virgil knew his brother was struggling to deal with a turmoil of emotions right now.

"Says the guy who drowned," Gordon retorted.

Virgil glared. That was the second time that had been used to deflect how others were feeling and he knew his family were going to hold it over him for a while. Then he softened, glancing at the door before back at Gordon.

"About that," he muttered. He didn't know what his brothers had been through, but from what his father said, Gordon was the reason why he was alive. "Dad said you were the one to get me out. You saved my life, Gords."

Gordon didn't answer but he stiffened where he sat.

"Gordon?"

"You weren't breathing," Gordon whispered, his hands clenched into fists. Virgil wished he could reach his brother to comfort him.

"Tell me," Virgil commanded. He knew what Gordon was like on a bad rescue – he tried to close off when really, he needed to say it out loud. This was the same: just another bad rescue.

Thinking about it like that was the only way Virgil could concentrate on Gordon rather than Scott being missing.

Stuttering, lacking his normal confidence, Gordon slowly began to fill Virgil in on everything that had happened since he had gone missing. Virgil was amazed his brothers hadn't been badly hurt in the explosion and grateful his father had forced them to get checked out.

Gordon's voice gained in strength as he spoke. Virgil could scarcely believe his brothers had arrived just in time to save him. But watching that helicopter leave, knowing it was taking Scott beyond their reach, went a long way to explain why Gordon looked as haunted as their father.

Gordon's voice cracked completely when he spoke about trying to get Virgil breathing again. Virgil knew from rescues how that felt, but couldn't imagine what it was like when it was a brother rather than a stranger.

Gordon fell silent, his gaze on the floor once he had finished.

"I'd hug you if I could move," Virgil said honestly. Gordon looked up and smiled. This time, it looked genuine.

"Thank God you can't then," he said. Virgil rolled his eyes with a grin of his own, grateful that Gordon sounded more like himself again. He tried to move and tensed as his body protested. When he finally forced himself to relax again, he saw Gordon watching him with a knowing expression.

"Sucks, huh?"

Virgil nodded mutely – he felt exhausted again. But Gordon wasn't just being sympathetic; he knew what it felt like. He had been in this position and he understood.

"Virg, I…"

Gordon trailed off, running a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath.

"I…" he seemed unable to finish his sentence.

"What is it, Gords?" Virgil asked softly. He had never seen his brother struggle to find the words before.

"If you want to talk about it, I'm here," Gordon blurted out, refusing to meet Virgil's eye. "I mean, I know that helplessness, and feeling the water, and…"

He broke off again, shuddering. His own brush with death had caused more scars than Gordon had ever admitted and Virgil realised what a big deal it was for his brother to even mention it.

"Thanks, kid," he whispered, the utmost sincerity in his tone.

Right now, talking about it was the last thing Virgil wanted. Drowning wasn't the only thing on his mind and he had no intention of sharing his thoughts with his little brother. He had been with Blag for almost a week – a week of being beaten, humiliated, starved and feeling utterly helpless. Then he had watched his best friend be put in a worse position and there wasn't anything he could have done to help.

He wasn't about to tell Gordon any of that.

Gordon forced a grin, nodded at him and started talking about random things. Their moment was over, but not forgotten. Virgil was only half-listening. He didn't have time to be in a bed. He needed to get out of there and find Scott.

But that was as far as his thoughts got before he fell asleep again.

The lights were dimmed and the room quiet when Virgil awoke. His head pounded with far more intensity than before and his stomach rolled. He groaned, not opening his eyes. He sensed that he wasn't alone but no one immediately rushed to his side as soon as he made a sound.

It had to be John with him.

"Virg?"

He was right: John's soft voice was reassuring. Virgil finally knew for certain that both brothers had survived the explosion.

He rolled his head to one side. He didn't want John asking how he was feeling, so instead attempted to grin to reassure his brother.

He couldn't.

Moving his head was agonising and Virgil groaned again, hoping he wasn't about to be sick. He was glad this hadn't happened in front of Gordon. Part of him wondered if it was because he was with a big brother again; subconsciously he knew he didn't have to put on a front.

He tried to say something but started coughing instead. Every time he tried to draw a breath, the cough built. Virgil felt tears pricking his eyes as he struggled to breathe, but he couldn't stop coughing, retching weakly as he did so. Everything _hurt_.

"Easy, Virg," John helped him sit up, supporting him, one hand a comforting weight on his back. "I've got you."

Virgil was aware of the door opening, but paid no attention to who came in. Instead, he focused on John's voice telling him that it was alright, that he was safe. He eventually stopped coughing, but still couldn't breathe properly. His mind flashed back to the last time this happened and Virgil panicked, convinced he was once again in that crypt with the water levels rising.

He was vaguely aware of a mask being slipped over his face and his hands instinctively rose. John caught both of them in one of his own.

"Leave it," he said, his tone firm enough that Virgil obeyed.

"It's oxygen," John continued, his voice cutting through the descending fog. "You've gone through hell, little brother. Leave it on; you'll feel better."

Virgil saw the doctor stepping back and realised it wasn't John who had put the mask on him. He started breathing easier again, the pounding in his head reducing as the fresh oxygen worked its way into his body. The doctor checked a few readings, murmured something to John and left again.

Virgil remained still for another few moments, concentrating on his breathing, before lifting the mask. John let him this time, even helping draw it over his head.

"Hate those things," Virgil rasped. John grimaced sympathetically.

"That's what you get for making yourself panic," he said, slipping out from behind him and sitting back in his seat. "Welcome back, Virg."

"Thanks," Virgil muttered, leaning back on the pillows. He hadn't been awake for long, and yet felt utterly exhausted. It wasn't just the panic attack or the coughing. Blag had wanted to hurt Scott as much as possible: his men had been given a free reign for the entire time Virgil had been their prisoner. The more marks on him by the time Scott arrived, the better by Blag's reckoning. He also hadn't been allowed to sleep.

"Try not to move," John cautioned, "you've taken some pretty bad hits."

"How bad?"

"I-,"

"I know you know." Virgil sounded stronger and fixed John with a look that told his brother he wanted answers, even if he had to get them himself. John sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Severe bruising everywhere, a fractured wrist, a few hairline fractures in other places, early signs of hypothermia, dehydration and whatever the drowning did."

"Damn," Virgil leant back, disheartened. He wouldn't be getting out any time soon.

"Don't even think about it," John suddenly said. Virgil jumped, glancing at him.

"What?"

"I know why you wanted to know. You want to know how long until you can make some sort of escape."

"I…" Virgil felt his cheeks colouring, although he didn't know if it was embarrassment or anger. "Someone has to find Scott! You three have sat around for two days waiting for me. You should be looking for him!"

Virgil knew his words were cruel and uncalled for. But Scott would think he was dead. If his brother broke, then Virgil knew it would be because of him. He wasn't prepared to accept that.

John, however, didn't flinch. He looked at Virgil steadily.

"Where are you going to start? Have you even tried moving yet? Just because I've been sitting here doesn't mean I haven't been looking for him."

Virgil opened his mouth, but John wasn't done.

"You didn't have a heartbeat when we found you. You were technically _dead_. I had to watch Gordon fight to get you breathing again! I'm looking for Scott, but damnit, Virgil, I had to know you were going to live first!"

It was the most emotional Virgil had heard John sound for years and he realised what his almost-death had done to his brother. But John wasn't the only one who thought he had lost a sibling.

"I lost you too!" Virgil forced himself to sit up, willing his body to not betray him.

"What?"

"I saw what happened at the hangar."

"How?"

"Same way Dad did," Virgil shrugged. "I thought I had lost you all until they threw Scott in. But he had no idea if you were alive or not. We thought you guys were dead…"

Virgil's voice cracked. He hadn't given himself the chance to come to terms with the fact he had believed his brothers had been killed, found out they were alive and then learnt they had lost Scott. It was one thing dealing with almost dying. It was another thing entirely accepting the same had happened to the rest of his family.

John had no answer. They were both thinking the same thing: Scott could now believe three out of his four brothers were dead. That would destroy him beyond anything else Blag could do. There was tension in the room and Virgil knew he had caused it by snapping.

But he didn't regret his outburst: he had needed it. John was the only one he felt would be able to take it; it was why the words had come tumbling out when faced with his older brother. The look on John's face indicated he was aware of what had just happened.

"Virg-,"

"Get some sleep?" Virgil said bitterly, frustration lacing his tone. John leant forward and squeezed his shoulder gently.

"You got it, kiddo."

Virgil felt his eyes flickering despite his best efforts to stay awake. His outburst had drained him of whatever energy he had left and he knew he was seconds away from falling asleep. He sagged against the pillows.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Find Scott."

He was asleep as soon as he said it, not witnessing the helpless expression on his brother's face.

"I'll try," John whispered, too late for Virgil to hear him. He pulled his bag onto his lap, fishing out his laptop. He had meant what he had told his brother; he had been trying to find Scott but to no avail.

But he had to keep trying, for his own peace of mind.

And for Virgil.


	19. Chapter 19

_Time for another chapter..._

* * *

John watched Virgil sleep, his chin propped on one hand, his gaze unfocused as he tried to stay awake. His laptop was open, balanced precariously on his knees, running a background search. He didn't have the focus for anything else. If the cops walked in, he would be in trouble.

But his father wouldn't let anyone into the room without warning. Not even the cops.

 _Especially_ not the cops.

He hadn't been able to concentrate since they had arrived at the hospital. Initially, he'd understood why – he'd needed to know if his brother was going to pull through. Then he'd wanted Virgil to wake up. Until Virgil had opened his eyes, they'd had no idea if he had been under water for too long.

Even after they were allowed into Virgil's room, the memory of the following few hours was a blur. John had spent the entire time in a haze of exhaustion. After he had escaped the nurses – smirking as Gordon had to remain and get his leg properly seen to – John had refused to leave the hospital, regardless of what argument his father put forward.

Matt woke shortly after they were allowed into Virgil's room. The three Tracys visited in turn but John knew he was not the only one who didn't feel welcome. Nicole didn't blame them; she made that clear, her hand on John's arm and tears in her eyes. But _she_ was going to be taking care of Matt and John didn't envy Matt's doctors. He knew it was her way of dealing with what had happened and he had left after a few moments of talking to Matt to see what he remembered.

His father was harassing Virgil's doctor, Gordon was getting something to eat and Virgil was asleep. This was John's chance to start searching in earnest without any distractions. But other than setting up a search, John didn't know what to do. He had tried tracking the helicopter but stumbled into blocks rather than finding results. He was supposed to be good at this: he _should_ have been able to get past the firewalls. But he couldn't. His fingers felt clumsy.

The same had happened the day before as well, and that had been before Virgil had made him swear he would find their brother. Gordon had eventually leant over and shut the laptop, taking it away from John and refusing to give it back until John had at least gone for a walk. Gordon's comment about not wanting John to get arrested by hitting the wrong buttons hadn't helped.

He had been furious with his brother. But as soon as he had left – been banished – from Virgil's room, he realised Gordon was right. His thoughts were sluggish and slow, exhaustion clouding his mind. Instead, he had put in a call to Brains, asking him to set up the initial checks and – to Gordon's surprise – gone and got some rest. A few hours later and he'd returned to Virgil's room, in time to relieve his exhausted father and – once again – hungry brother.

He wondered now, staring at his brother, if subconsciously he had known how Virgil would react when he woke up. He would hide it from their father and wouldn't admit it to Gordon. But if the rest of them had been afraid and desperate, it must be nothing compared to what Virgil was feeling. He'd needed to lash out, to vent his frustration over recent events, and John had somehow guessed he would be the one to take the brunt of that.

Virgil was used to Scott telling him that it was going to be okay. If he was honest, John was used to that too. He felt he had let his big brother down, being unable to reach Virgil properly in order to calm him.

John didn't notice time passing as he stared at Virgil. He couldn't say for sure he was looking at his brother – he wasn't sure he was looking at anything at all. His thoughts were stuck in a continuous loop: wanting to find Scott, not knowing where to start, wanting to find Scott…

"Breaking the law again?"

John jumped, the laptop starting to slide off his lap. Fingers fumbling, he caught it before it hit the floor, placing it on the table next to Virgil's bed. With his heart still thudding faster than normal, he turned as Gordon smirked sheepishly at him.

"Only me." He entered the room, swinging a chair around and straddling it backwards, his arms crossed across the top and his chin resting on them. He didn't look at John but instead stared at Virgil.

"I thought you were getting food?"

"I got. I ate. I came back." Gordon shrugged, finally glancing at John. "He woken up yet?"

John nodding, exhaling sharply. He wanted to keep this from Gordon – it was up to him to look out for his younger brothers, especially since Scott wasn't here. But he couldn't do this alone; if he kept what Virgil had said to himself, John knew it would eat away at him until he believed his brother.

"For long enough to yell at me for not having already found Scott."

"He doesn't mean-," Gordon began but John cut him off.

"I know," he said. He ran his fingers through his hair, the frustration building in him. He had never hit so many dead-ends. He had managed to track the plane that had taken Virgil, after all. Now, however, he wondered if that was only because Blag had let him. His dad was right about what he had said previously: Blag was the only one John hadn't triumphed over in all his years of hacking.

"I should've found something by now." His elbows rested on his legs as he sagged, his head dropping towards his chest. He felt deflated. Defeated even.

 _This was his fault!_

He had been so convinced he had tracked down Virgil when they had found the hangar, he had never stopped to think it could be a trap. He kept seeing the explosive device waiting for them, hearing Gordon's sharp intake of breath when he realised what it was. Scott wouldn't have been taken if John had checked things properly.

But they wouldn't have found Virgil.

He wished he could work out which was the stronger emotion: guilt or relief. _Of course_ he had wanted to find Virgil and get his brother away from a madman intent on destroying them. But he hadn't intended sacrificing Scott in the process.

"I found this."

John looked up as Gordon tossed him something. He caught it, then smiled gratefully when he recognised the candy bar. He kept sending Gordon to get food but had forgotten he hadn't eaten himself. Gordon clearly knew there was no chance of him leaving and he was thankful to avoid the argument.

"Have you seen Dad?" he asked, tearing open the wrapper and taking a bite. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"He was leaving Matt's room as I was heading back. I tried to tell him to go and get some rest but…"

"He hasn't turned up here," John said, knowing Gordon hated feeling helpless.

His brother had literally saved Virgil's life. Since then, there had been nothing for him to do apart from sit around and try to persuade their father to rest and eat – despite the man not listening. John might be failing at finding a trace of his brother but at least he had something to occupy him. Gordon was a man of action: their lifestyle suited him. Hanging around a hospital waiting for something to happen didn't.

Gordon gave him a terse smile, both of them daring to hope their father had finally listened and gone to get some rest.

But the pain and frustration still lingered in his eyes and John sighed. This wasn't just the emotional pain of sitting around doing nothing.

For Gordon, the physical pain of doing exactly that was starting to take its toll. John, too, was still feeling the aches and bruises of the explosion and knew Gordon was uncomfortable.

"The hotel has a pool," he said quietly.

"Congratulations," Gordon said. His scathing tone didn't fool John: the sudden stiffening of his shoulders indicated he knew _exactly_ what John was referring to. John sighed; he should have guessed Gordon would protest when it came to looking out for himself: he was a Tracy after all.

"Gordon."

"No."

"Gords-,"

"No, John," Gordon glared at him, "I'm staying. You go if the pool is so great."

There was one thing that made Gordon snap: talking about his past. John watched him steadily for a moment, working out what to say to make his brother listen to him. He had previously joked about having the man admitted if he refused to get some rest. The only thing stopping him right now that lying in a hospital bed wouldn't ease Gordon's back.

"You're no good to Virgil - to _Scott_ \- if you can't move," he said quietly. "You're Virg's co-pilot – he knows more than the rest of us what sitting for a long period of time does, he's had to hear you moan about it. When he wakes up and sees you sitting like that, he's gonna flip."

Trying to make it about Virgil was the only thing John could think of doing. But Gordon still opened his mouth, protests at the ready.

John spoke first.

"Please."

It was the only tactic he had left. But John knew – deep down – he didn't want Gordon on form just for his brother's sake. He needed one of them functioning, lightening the situation and defusing tempers. He couldn't take Virgil accusing him again without Gordon there to promise he didn't mean it. Unless his brother helped himself, Gordon would be in no state to help anyone – even John.

But it worked: Gordon shut his eyes and sighed before climbing to his feet. His movements were stiff and John knew it wasn't just reluctance.

"I'll be an hour-,"

"You'll be all night," John interrupted. "Get some sleep, Gords."

"No way!"

"You can sit with him all day tomorrow while I sleep," John lied. Gordon wanted to watch out for Virgil just as much as the older ones. John felt bad for trying to play his brother, but the look on Gordon's face indicated he was seeing straight through him. It worked though – Gordon started scuffing towards the door.

"You realise how early I wake up, right?" he grumbled, his voice barely audible. John grinned but didn't say anything. Gordon was leaving; he wasn't going to jeopardise that.

"Nicely done."

John jumped, glancing at Virgil. His brother's voice was hoarse but his eyes were open. Virgil gave him a weak smile.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to hear you go all big brother on Gordon's butt."

John sagged in relief, then glanced at Virgil. His brother was too busy trying to stay awake to notice. But there was no indication he had heard Gordon attempting to reassure John about his previous outburst. John hadn't taken the words to heart, but he knew Virgil would regret them if he understood what he had actually said.

He leant forward, one hand resting on the bed to support himself.

"How're you-,"

"Don't ask." Virgil's tone was blunt and, despite the answer, John grinned. He could see (and hear) how bad Virgil was feeling. No wonder his brother didn't want to have to put it into words.

But before he could say anything, Virgil shifted until his hand momentarily rested against John's.

"About before…"

"Virg-,"

"I shouldn't have said it." The distress in Virgil's voice made John withdraw his hand and rest it on his brother's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He had hoped that Virgil wouldn't remember what he had said.

"It's okay, Virg," he said softly.

"No. No, it's not." Virgil shook his head and John flinched – his brother sounded more upset than previously. "He's going to kill him, Johnny," Virgil whispered, "or worse."

"Worse?" John didn't want to know. But he had to.

"Everything he did to me," Virgil whispered, his voice cracking. John was startled to see tears in his brother's eyes, although he didn't know if they were pain, frustration or a combination of both. "It was just to get to Scott. He didn't care if any of us lived or died. Me, you, Gords, Matt… It was all just to hurt Scott."

John couldn't initially speak. He couldn't offer false reassurances, not this time. Virgil knew better than he did what Blag was capable of. He also knew how much it would be killing Scott to not know if they were dead or alive.

But it was up to him now. He had to banish that expression from Virgil's face. He had to give his brothers, his family, hope. It was what Scott would have done.

He gave his brother's shoulder another squeeze.

"No," he said, his tone firm. "We're going to get Scott out. Besides, he's going to be giving them hell for what they did to you. Don't worry; he'll be okay."

Virgil's look told John he knew what his brother was trying to do. He didn't argue though but gave up on his fight to stay awake.

As he watched his brother fall asleep, John reached for his laptop again.

"You hear that, Scotty?" he murmured as he opened the lid. "Give them hell."

TBTB

 _Cold_.

He was so _cold._

For a long moment, consciousness slowly trickling back, that was the only thing Scott was aware of. Violent shudders wracked his body and his teeth were chattering. A groan attempted to escape but he stopped it. He had to keep silent.

 _Why didn't he want anyone to know he was awake?_

Feeling started to return to his numb body. He was sprawled across what felt like a concrete floor, face down. Opening his eyes, Scott looked around the best he could without moving his head. He couldn't see a lot but mainly because there wasn't a lot to see. Blank, grey concrete walls meeting a blank, grey concrete floor met his searching gaze.

He involuntarily shifted, tensed, then relaxed when nothing happened. His movement brought a wave of memories with it and he suddenly understood why he was being careful. This wasn't the first time he had woken up. Only last time, he had given away that he was alert and the next thing he knew, there was a needle in his neck and blackness had closed in before he had done anything more than moan.

There was no reaction to his movement. He risked another look around – properly this time – and realised he was alone. Sitting up, he crawled across to the wall and leant back against it, hugging his knees to his chest in an attempt to conserve heat. The room he was in couldn't be bigger than ten paces wide or deep. There were no windows and a heavy, solid door that had a small grille in the top. Scott shivered again, and this time it wasn't the cold.

He could only remember the second drugging. He had no idea if it had happened more than that: he could have been here for days and been kept unconscious and he wouldn't know.

If he had been missing for days, had anyone found Virgil? Did this family know what had happened? That Virgil was…

He stopped there.

Virgil wasn't dead. Scott refused to believe it. He couldn't piece together a situation in which his brother had miraculously freed himself before the water had been too deep, but he had to believe it had happened. He would know if his brother was dead. He and Virgil had always been close as children but that had cemented into something more as they fought against nature and death time and time again as adults. They had a bond and Scott would _know_ if his brother had been killed.

But he was so cold, so numb… Could he have lost Virgil?

John and Gordon as well. He had no clue whether his brothers had survived the explosion. Blag knew – Scott was certain of it. But he hadn't seen the man since he had been pulled from the crypt and had no indication either way.

His brothers were fighters… they had been so much closer to the blast than him… they had survived worse…

Blag's men had been waiting for them…

Scott snarled, digging his nails into his palms. The sharp pain cut through his spiralling thoughts. He couldn't give in to helplessness. He _had_ to believe his brothers had survived, all three of them. And if not… If he couldn't save them, Scott was going to make damn sure he avenged them, even if it was the last thing he did.

He couldn't just sit there and wait for whatever Blag was going to do him. Lurching up, Scott grabbed at the wall as the entire room span around him. His stomach rolled and he wondered if he was going to be sick. Lethargy pulled at him, dragging him down and he scrabbled wildly for purchase as his legs gave way. He sank back down the wall, fighting to hold onto consciousness. But he couldn't and darkness flooded his vision before he noticed he was passing out.

His mind was clearer when he next woke. He stayed still, knowing moving too suddenly would risk him blacking out again. He tensed, slowly moving each limb one at a time, trying to work out how he was feeling. He looked around as he did so.

His previous thoughts about the room were correct. It was small and bland. Scott had only experienced claustrophobia once before but he tried to not to think about how close the walls felt.

He suddenly realised there was something in the far corner. Steeling himself, he carefully drew himself to his feet, keeping one hand on the wall as he moved across. His estimate about the size of the cell was correct.

It was a blanket, as non-descript in colour as the rest of the room, thrown in a heap. Not thinking about what he was doing, Scott picked it up. It was of reasonable quality and his fingers closed around the fabric for a moment. But he wouldn't give Blag the satisfaction. Automatically, he folded it with military precision and put it back on the floor. He could practically see Virgil's disbelieving expression, but right now, his pride was the only thing left to him.

Scott glanced around. Then he picked up the blanket, shook it out and went through a show of refolding it, all the while using his movements to disguise the fact he was checking for surveillance. He couldn't see anything but knew from years of living with Brains that didn't mean anything.

He couldn't detect anything. Slowly, cautiously, he started searching his cell. They weren't in Kansas any longer, that was certain. But with no windows, Scott had no idea where they were. He only assumed it was somewhere cold as he attempted to stop his shivering.

He avoided the door. If there was surveillance anywhere, it would be covering the door. He wanted longer to prepare himself before he alerted his captors to the fact he was conscious. They might already know, but all Scott cared about was that they were leaving him in peace for the time being.

He wasn't certain what he was looking for. Some indication of where he was, some hidden weakness or item he could use to defend himself. It was unlikely, but Scott methodically searched every inch of the room, ignoring the growing thirst as he worked. Not knowing how long he had been there was an overwhelming and uncomfortable feeling, so he did his utmost to avoid thinking about it. He couldn't deny it had been a long time since he had last drunk, though.

Eventually, Scott neared the door. The grille was at head-height, three bars preventing him from getting his hand through. He peered out. The same grey stonework lined the corridor beyond but, although Scott checked in either direction, he couldn't see anything that would identify where he was being held.

He shook the door, tried pushing and pulling. But it didn't even rattle. He tried to examine a lock, only to find there wasn't one. He guessed it must have been bolted from the other side. Reaching out, Scott grasped the bars, wrenching against them. They refused to give and he settled for attempting to force his hand through a too-small gap, trying to stretch for a bolt that was out of reach.

There was no way of keeping track of time: his watch was long gone and the lack of natural light meant it could be dawn or dusk for all he knew. Scott had no idea how long he fought against the door. All he managed to achieve was a long scrape up the side of his hand.

Finally though, he realised he could hear footsteps. A glance down the corridor revealed which direction the person was coming from, but that was all Scott had time for before he backed away.

He didn't know if they had been watching him fight the door. But he had no intention of making things easy.

By the time a face appeared in the bars Scott was slumped against the wall, the blanket spread over him, hiding the tension running through his body. The man was one he didn't recognise – another lackey at Blag's disposal, no doubt. Scott blearily looked towards him as the man chuckled darkly, opening the door.

The man left it open as he entered. There was a bundle in one hand and a gun in the other. Scott knew by the way the man handled the weapon that he knew what he was doing.

The man threw the bundle at Scott. It landed next to him and he realised it was clothing. It looked the same grey as the rest of the room and he shuddered. He didn't know where he was but he knew it couldn't be anywhere good. He looked at them, then glanced back at the man.

"Change," the man ordered. He gestured towards the clothes with his gun before training it back on Scott. Scott didn't move, pretending to look confused despite it being obvious what the man wanted from him.

"Change," he repeated, a menacing tone in his voice. Scott slowly stood up but kept the blanket over his body.

"I can't," he said. He glared at the man. "Not while you're watching."

The state he and his brothers had got into over the years, especially on rescues, meant this would hardly be the first time he had changed in front of a stranger. He kept himself in shape – he was proud of the fitness level he had achieved. But right now, a dull blanket and a childish whine in his voice was the only defence he had as an idea formed in his mind.

Anger clouded the man's mind and he gestured with the gun. Scott stared obstinately back. If this man worked for Blag, then it shouldn't come as a surprise that Scott was digging his heels in. Eventually – with an elaborate eye roll - the man moved. He turned his back but planted himself directly between Scott and the door.

Scott moved fast. He darted forward before the man had finished moving, not giving him the time to find a balanced position. He threw the blanket, luck more than judgement meaning it landed over the man's head, momentarily blinding him. Scott crashed into his back, grabbing hold of the fabric so the man couldn't just pull it off. They fell to the floor in a tangle but Scott got the upper hand, planting his knee in the man's back as he tried to wrestle the gun from his grip.

Finally, panting hard and with his vision swimming, he got a grip on the weapon and wrenched it from the man's hand. Without pausing, he slammed it into the guard's head and his struggles instantly stopped. Ignoring the fact that he was shaking, Scott dragged the unconscious man across the room before draping the blanket back over him. He hoped, at a glance, someone looking in would be fooled as to who it was.

He didn't wait around to see if his ploy would work. Instead, he darted to the open door and out into the corridor beyond. While he still couldn't see cameras, he knew they would be there. This complex – from what Scott could see – looked secure. Blag wouldn't risk Scott being able to run around and not know about it.

But Scott still took a moment to shut the door and took great satisfaction in driving the bolts home. The more time he could buy, the further away he had a chance of getting before anyone even realised he was gone.

With the door secured, he glanced each way before setting off. He went in the direction he had seen the man come from. It increased the chances of finding other people, but he also thought it might increase his chance of finding the way out.

He couldn't think about his brothers right now, couldn't dwell on what their fate was. If he wanted to avenge them, then he had to find Blag.

He had to get out of there.


	20. Chapter 20

_I think this might be the first time I've consciously sat there and thought 'wow, my bad guy is evil'. Not sure what that says about me..._

* * *

His footsteps were silent, only the soft rasp of his breathing giving him away as he stole down the corridor. It was a struggle to keep his breathing even considering his thudding heart-rate but Scott knew the only way he would escape was if he remained undetected.

The corridor was dim; harsh, flickering strip lights illuminated the space, but the bulbs were faint and each flicker threatened to send the corridor into complete darkness. As one light trembled, Scott looked at his shadow stretching forward. Did he _want_ to escape?

He wanted to be free of that cell, true enough. But Blag had killed his brothers: leaving wasn't an option. If he got caught, he would be taken to Blag. If he could find the man on his own, however, if he could have that element of surprise…

He broke into a jog. Scott had no idea how long he had been there - they could have sedated him numerous times for all he knew. But urgency clawed at him and it suddenly become paramount that he found Blag and ended it, _now._ He couldn't wait any longer; his brothers had suffered, gone unavenged for too long while Scott did nothing. He had no idea where he was going, though, the corridor continued in what appeared to be an endless stretch of concrete.

His head started swimming but Scott pointedly ignored the light-headiness that washed through him every time he breathed in. But just as he started to doubt whether this had all been for nothing, something drew his attention. The corridor had twisted without him realising and he suddenly noticed the lighting improving. There was a sharp bend a little further on but beyond that, the steady glow of a light bulb that actually worked.

He slowed to a walk, pressing his back against the wall and trying to stop his shadow slipping ahead and giving him away. His breathing calmed, his heart-rate settled as he shifted his grip on the gun. Edging forward, Scott paused before he rounded the corner. He had no idea how big this complex was or how many men Blag had working for him. But he stopped and listened, intending to have some vague idea of what odds he was facing.

A soft murmur of voices greeted him, men conversing in quiet tones as he edged forward again. It took him a moment to realise the men were speaking in Russian and a shiver ran through him. The evidence they had uncovered before the hangar had implicated the Russians and Scott suddenly wondered how far from home he truly was right now.

It meant he had no idea what they were talking about, though. All he could go on was their tone – and no one sounded alarmed their prisoner had escaped. He didn't know if they were blocking his route out or his route to Blag but knew there was only one way to find out. He took a double-handed grip on the gun, finger already on the trigger. These men were in league with Blag: they were complicit in Virgil's kidnapping therefore, ultimately, in his death. Scott told himself they deserved whatever came their way.

He shuffled forward, took a deep breath, and prepared to step out from behind his corner.

A soft _click_ made him go rigid, but the cold muzzle of a gun was already pressed against his neck.

"Drop it."

Scott's grip instinctively tightened at the voice.

" _Drop_ _it!"_ The gun pressed harder into his neck. But Scott didn't feel it; anger and hatred burning through him.

He held his arm out to the side, his muscles relaxing. The gun against his head eased back a fraction and Scott moved.

He spun fast, drawing his arm back in as he struggled to aim the gun in the enclosed space. But Blag was ready for him, catching the barrel in an open palm. The movement was too sudden and Scott's grip wasn't right; Blag tore the gun from his hand and threw it down the corridor behind him. The clatter as it hit the floor made the voices fall silent.

"That went well," Blag said, his tone conversational as he brought his own gun back to aim at Scott. Scott lunged for it, not thinking about his training or examining the situation rationally. Blag saw his movement, kneeing him in the stomach and causing Scott to stagger back, winded. The men from the room had obviously approached in the few seconds the entire thing had lasted for and before Scott could try to go for Blag again, two took a tight hold of his arms, expertly holding his wrists behind his back.

They bundled him into the room. There was at least a dozen of them, half still sitting around a wooden table, bottles of beer and a packet of playing cards resting on it. It would have been _so_ easy to have taken them unawares, if only he had moved quicker. One man was standing on a stool, attaching a length of rope to what appeared to be an old light fixture on the ceiling.

Scott snarled, trying to throw off the men holding him but they bound his hands behind his back before forcing him to his knees. Another man entered behind them, handing Blag the gun Scott had stolen.

Scott glared even as Blag twirled the weapon around one finger. There was a knowing smirk on his face.

"You were quicker than I expected, I'll give you that," Blag said, his voice still light and friendly. "We gave you enough to take out an elephant but I didn't think it would hold you down for long."

"What do you want?" Scott spat. He knelt up, only the hands on his shoulders keeping him from rising. He refused to be cowed though and ignored them, keeping his attention fixed on Blag. The man's voice might be light, but Scott knew that meant nothing.

"All in good time."

Anger and frustration overwhelmed him. Scott lunged forward, forgetting that his hands were tied. His movement was too sudden for the men holding him and he broke free. But he didn't even make it to his feet before Blag lashed out. The gun was still in his hand when he struck Scott across the face, sending him sprawling. Dazed, Scott gasped as he tried to sit back up.

It wasn't just the pain that stole his breath though. Blag chuckled.

"De-ja vu, Scotty?" he said, his voice too quiet for his men to hear. Scott touched his split lip with his tongue before spitting a bubble of blood out. He refused to look at Blag, refused to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he had voiced exactly what was going through his head. Reeling from a blow, bound, on his knees and at Blag's mercy. It was as if he was sixteen years old all over again.

"Let's complete this little trip down memory lane, shall we?" Blag nodded to someone out of Scott's eye-line. He managed to make it back to his knees by the time a man stepped next to Blag, a tripod and a camera bag in his hand. Scott shook his head.

"Dad's going to kill you," he said, "not pay you."

"Aw, I thought you'd promise to kill me. Need Daddy to protect you?"

"This won't work. You know it won't!" Scott knew that, as mad as Blag was, he wasn't stupid. He had tried this route with the Tracys before and had been stopped. Blag shrugged.

"I didn't ask your father for money back then, Scott. It wasn't about the money, not then and not now."

He nodded to his men. Two hauled Scott to his feet but he let it happen. He was outnumbered; he had to take the first few unawares to stand a chance. To his delight, one unlocked the cuffs around his wrists. Scott took a step, pretending to stumble and clutched at one of the men as if for support.

Then he reacted.

He wasn't certain what happened next. But regardless of how much he fought, he was up against well-trained and well-rested men. He didn't stand a chance. He didn't know how long they continued for once they had him on the floor, but it felt like an age before Blag called them off. The men backed off even as Blag stepped forward.

He drew Scott's hands in front of him. Scott tried to resist, tried to make him let go, but it was as if Blag didn't even notice his struggles as he slipped a plastic tie over his wrists, tightening it painfully.

"You may have grown up, Scott..." Blag said, stepping back and once more gesturing to his men. They pulled Scott to the centre of the room, forcing him upright. Another man climbed back onto the stool, dragging Scott's hands above his head and tying the rope around them. Scott struggled, realising that Blag had intended to bring him here even if he hadn't escaped on his own.

"...but you forget I know you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know all about you, Scott Tracy."

Scott stared, his heart lurching despite having already believed he had lost everything. He wasn't a fool; every man had their breaking point and his brothers' deaths had pushed Scott closer to his, emotionally if not physically. If Blag knew about International Rescue, if he demanded information…

"You had quite a colourful career in the Air Force, didn't you?"

It took every ounce of Scott's willpower not to sag in relief.

"I knew you'd fight, that you'd been trained. You should thank me really, I bet memories of our time together got you through training sessions better than anything."

Scott kept his face impassive, refusing Blag the satisfaction of knowing he was right. His instructors had always wondered where his drive came from.

Blag eventually shrugged when Scott didn't say anything.

"I made sure I hired the best. You slipped from me once, I'm not letting you do it again."

Scott would have preferred the man to shout. Or even let his men continue their beating. The casual way he spoke, the carefree way he held out his hand to one of his men was more chilling than any acts of violence.

"We _are_ sending a message, true. But not to your father."

Scott tried to pull back as Blag approached with a length of material in his hand. Someone punched him again, once more making him gasp and giving Blag ample time to gag him while Scott struggled to get his feet back under him.

"Your father is a famous man. A rich man. Famous and rich men have many enemies, Scott. Enemies who would pay dearly to have you in their hands. Attempting to take you hostage as a child may not have been enough to get your father to sign over his business. But once he sees what these men are willing to do to you, even the great Jeff Tracy will be humbled before them."

Scott felt the blood rushing to his face as he struggled to control himself. He would _not_ be ransomed off again, not like this. His father had lost too much already. If he saw what Blag had planned…

Alan still needed their dad. Scott was not going to be responsible for breaking the man.

He kicked out, straining to reach either the camera or Blag. Both were out of his reach though and he was left fighting wildly against the restraints for a few moments. Blag approached when he fell still, panting behind the gag and struggling to draw breath. The man cupped his chin, forcing him to look up.

"It's about power, Scott. It always has been."

The material around his mouth prevented him from verbally answering. Instead, Scott did the only thing left open to him. He headbutted Blag as hard as he could, relishing in the dots bursting across his vision as Blag stumbled back, cursing. This time, he didn't approach again.

Scott struggled, fighting to break free of the ropes. He couldn't let this message be sent out. But then he stopped, the resistance slowly draining from him. Bound as he was, there was no way he could take revenge for his brothers. He was helpless. But if International Rescue had taught him one thing, it was that they never gave up. Not on anyone.

He had seen the water, he had felt the cuffs holding Virgil. His brother wouldn't have stood a chance. John and Gordon had been closer to the explosion than he had as well. He doubted Blag would leave loose ends.

But he knew his dad. He knew the man didn't give up. While he thought Scott might be alive, he wouldn't stop looking for him. A broadcast meant a signal. Signals could be tracked. And high above the earth, finishing John's rotation, Brains would be looking for anything he could to give his boss some good news.

If this broadcast went out, his father had a chance of finding him. Then they could avenge the others – together.

Blag was out of his reach, for now. But even as a small red light blinked into existence on the camera, Scott kept his glare fixed on the man. He stood by what he had said back in Kansas: he was going to kill him. If Blag truly knew him, then he would know Scott Tracy never broke his word.

TBTB

There was someone in the room with him. Virgil kept his eyes shut and his breathing even, though. He knew his family meant well, that they were concerned about him. But if someone else asked how he was feeling, or if he needed anything, Virgil didn't think he could be held responsible for his actions. He didn't want to be left on his own, but he wasn't certain he could face them for much longer, lying there helpless.

He still felt guilty over what he had said to John, despite both of them realising he'd needed the outlet. But what felt worse was that he _had_ meant his words, even if not in the harsh manner they had come out. His family had asked him if he needed anything: he needed Scott. He needed them to find his brother and get him away from Blag before they lost him for good. He wanted them to be out there actively searching for his brother, even if that meant he had to lie there staring at the ceiling while they did so. He wasn't about to stop breathing just because they weren't sitting by his side.

The trouble with feigning sleep was that it gave him far too much thinking time. Whoever was with him either hadn't noticed that he was faking it or they were letting him initiate the conversation. It meant it definitely wasn't Gordon with him, but Virgil couldn't risk moving to find out who it was.

The police had come to question him as soon as his doctors had given the go-ahead. He'd officially met Matt's old partner again, relieved the corruption within the force was being dealt with and that the police were genuinely trying to help now rather than stalling to buy Blag more time.

He had nodded in all the right places when they reassured him they were doing everything they could to track Blag. He did the same when his father had quietly said that Brains was running checks and scans of his own, using technology far more sophisticated than the police had at their disposal.

But it wasn't Brains or the cops that Virgil wanted to be searching. It was John. The bonds between them all were deeper than most families; their line of work meant they relied on each other more than words could say. They would do anything for each other. Virgil knew John wouldn't stop – he would drive himself to exhaustion and beyond searching for Scott. He would hack into networks that Brains wouldn't think of because the man was too inherently good to even think of the darker side of the world. John would, though. John had gone up against Blag before, and lost. He would do _whatever_ he had to in order to find Scott and it was that reassurance Virgil needed right now.

He didn't know how he was supposed to say anything, though. John would understand – he would be feeling the same. But both his father and Gordon would try to make sure he didn't push himself too far, attempting to look out for him in the same way they were doing to Virgil. That wasn't what either of them needed right now. It wasn't what Scott needed.

If ignoring his family was what it took for them to find Scott, then that was what Virgil would do.

"I'd love to know if that actually works."

Virgil's eyes snapped open at the unexpected voice. He twisted his head and, for the first time since the night he had been taken, a genuine smile spread across his face. Matt was slumped in a chair by his bedside, looking pale but bored. He returned Virgil's smile.

"I wasn't sure you were awake to start with," Matt said, leaning forward, "then you kept scowling. If pretending to be asleep actually worked, I'd have tried it every time Nic started correcting the doctors."

Virgil attempted to sit up but his bad wrist wouldn't take his weight. Matt stood up, supporting him without a word until Virgil could rest back against the pillows. Virgil looked at his friend closely.

"How're you feeling?"

Matt lifted an eyebrow and Virgil flushed. There was no reason why Matt wouldn't be as sick of that question as he was.

"Sorry."

It wasn't just that Matt was pale that made Virgil concerned for his friend. He knew the man had been knocked out more than once – he had witnessed what Blag's men had done to him - done to them both - after all. But it was more than that. Matt had tried to save him, pleaded with Blag even while Virgil had begged Scott to make sure Matt was safe. Guilt was an old friend of Virgil's – ever since Scott had been taken in that alleyway years ago. He knew what it could do to a man.

He also understood now why Matt had been taken. It wasn't just in revenge for him helping save Scott the first time around. Blag somehow knew they were friends and knew that Matt had a family of his own. He also knew how protective Scott was – he had known how to play them. Once again, Virgil was reminded that Blag truly hadn't cared who lived and who died, as long as he had control of Scott. It made him feel sick.

"I've been better," Matt eventually answered, his voice quiet, "though probably about to be a lot worse when Nicole realises I'm not in bed."

Virgil grinned again even as he sagged further against the pillows. He looked at Matt's face and groaned.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, pre-empting the question. Matt looked at him steadily even as Virgil felt his flush spread across his neck. He had asked Matt, after all, it was only fair the question was returned. But Virgil realised his fast answer had bordered on rude and he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Sorry. It's just-"

"Everyone keep asking you that, eh?"

Virgil nodded, appreciating the true empathy in Matt's voice.

"I want to get out of here," Virgil admitted, staring at the opposite wall rather than looking at his friend. The others didn't understand how he felt; they knew he wanted Scott back but didn't appreciate what it was like for him, trapped in a hospital bed and relying on others. "I have to get him back."

"I know," Matt said.

Virgil looked at him and realised Matt did understand. They had both been used as bait, both used to try and destroy Scott. It didn't matter how many times the others told him it wasn't his fault and there was nothing he could have done. It didn't matter how many times Virgil told himself they were right. The guilt still pressed on him and he could tell by the hollow look in Matt's eyes that he was feeling the same.

"I should be out of here by tomorrow," Matt continued. "They've got no reason to keep me in. I'm going back there. Back to the house."

"The police have already been," Virgil muttered. He was both glad and jealous that Matt was well enough to secure his release. But the cops had been crawling over the house since before either of them had regained consciousness. Virgil had no idea what Matt hoped to find that his colleagues had missed.

"I have to do something!" Matt sighed in exasperation. "I know Blag, I know what he is like. I might find something they have overlooked, something they thought was inconsequential."

Virgil knew by the look on Matt's face that he didn't honestly expect to find anything. But Matt couldn't hack into satellites and databases the way John could. This was the only thing he could think of to try and help and Virgil knew he shouldn't deny the man that chance. After all, Matt was right: he did know Blag better than the rest of the officers on the case. If anything had been left – which Virgil knew was highly unlikely – then Matt might find it.

"Good luck." Virgil meant it, but he also wanted the conversation to be over. His frustration was building – Matt was doing the only thing he could and Virgil was judging him for it not being enough just because he couldn't do it himself.

He sighed, hoping Matt couldn't sense his annoyance. But his friend knew him better than that. Instead, Matt bent down and pulled a bag onto his lap. Despite everything, Virgil's curiosity piqued.

"What's that?"

"I'm doing the only thing I can, Virg," Matt said. He tipped the bag onto the bed and Virgil instinctively reached for the notepad before stopping himself and looking at Matt. The man pulled out a set of pencils that he placed next to the paper. "There is something you can do from in here. The cops might stand more of a chance if they could visually recognise the men with Blag, don't you think?"

"Matt-," Virgil had no idea what he wanted to say. His fingers twitched, though, his desire to have pencil and paper in his hand overwhelming anything else running through his mind. Matt was right; the cops had no idea who they were searching for. But Virgil had always had a talent for bringing things to life - even with pencils clearly aimed for children, no doubt the only thing Matt had been able to find in the gift shop.

Matt stood up, his hand resting fleetingly on Virgil's shoulder. "We're going to bring him home," he said, "you have my word."

Virgil nodded, reaching for the paper. Matt pushed it closer and moved towards the door. If he stopped and looked back before leaving, then Virgil didn't see him. Already, his hand was sketching across the paper as he lost himself to the memories of the men who had abducted him and ensured he couldn't escape from Blag.

More than one sketch was violently screwed up and thrown across the room as Virgil felt it didn't capture the essence of the men. But as each person came to life under his careful shading, Virgil felt a weight being lifted from him. It was therapeutic to be drawing again, and the shadow of all that had happened to him slowly started to lift as he was able to vent his feelings on the paper in front of him. It was as if he was so focused on trying to find Scott that he had forgotten he, too, had been through something.

Four men had been completed to Virgil's satisfaction and he had started on the fifth when exhaustion started to press down on him. This had been the longest he had been awake for some time and he was starting to feel it. He didn't notice his hand was slowing or that his grip on the pencil was slacking. He had no idea he was falling asleep until his body suddenly slumped and consciousness gave way to exhaustion.

He didn't hear his dad and brother returning, or the man's sharp gasp as he realised what he was looking at. Virgil didn't feel his dad tease the pencil from his hand and draw the pad away. He slept through the bed being lowered back to a horizontal position and the blankets drawn up over his slumbering body. His father's hand brushed through his hair softly and Virgil sighed in his sleep.

As his dad snatched up the drawings, ordering Gordon to stay with his brother while he went to find Paul, Virgil slept on. For the first time, he had done something constructive to help find his brother rather than be the reason why Scott ended up in trouble. Since waking up, Virgil finally felt he had been of some assistance rather than hindering everyone.

It was enough to make him sleep deeply for a while.


	21. Chapter 21

_Sorry for the delay again, guys. This chapter has been another nightmare one full of rewrites! Hope it's worth the wait._

* * *

"Dad, c'mon," Virgil said.

His father rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's being taken care of."

"They're my drawings." Virgil didn't care if he sounded like a petulant child. Hope had flared when he had woken up and realised the images had gone. He wondered if Matt had said anything, telling his colleagues to trust what Virgil had produced, or whether they were so desperate for leads they had accepted his drawings without questioning them. Blag hadn't turned up on any of their searches. At least this way, they could put names to faces for his henchman.

But Virgil had no idea if any names had yet emerged. His father wasn't telling him.

"Dad-,"

"Virgil, enough. You're bored, I get that. But these cops can be trusted, so we need to let them do their jobs. Besides, you can't do anything even if they find something."

Virgil flinched and his dad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb. The strain was getting to the man and Virgil wasn't the only one to see it. Gordon was leaning forward on his chair, an uncharacteristic frown on his face as he, too, watched their father. His being in a hospital bed was not the reason Virgil's father wasn't telling him; he hadn't said anything to his brothers either.

The worst part was that Virgil knew why. As soon as they had a lead, as soon as they had something to go on, Virgil knew they all planned on beating the police to the scene. This was their family Blag had messed with and they weren't prepared to let strangers handle it. It was their brother on the line, after all.

"I didn't mean that," his dad said, making Virgil look at him again. "But you have to let yourself recover, son."

Virgil nodded mutely, knowing anything he said would be the wrong thing. His dad squeezed his shoulder and left the room. Both Gordon and Virgil watched him go, then Virgil threw back the covers.

"Not a good idea, man." Gordon rested back on his chair, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. He looked like John when he did that and Virgil tried to ignore him.

"Why not?" Virgil felt fine or, at least, much better than he had done. He was bored of sitting in bed.

"Because you died." Gordon picked up the television remote, frowning when nothing happened. Virgil didn't tell him he had asked his dad to turn it off at the wall when the constant noise and flashing light had hurt his head. He was attempting to make his brothers believe he was feeling better – they didn't need to know about that.

"You can't keep holding that over me forever," he said. He knew he needed to take it slow – Brains had drilled that into their heads over the years of coming back injured from rescues. But Scott didn't have time for him to sit here recovering. Virgil could scarcely imagine what his brother was going through right now and he had to make sure Scott knew he was alive; he wasn't going to be the reason why his brother stopped fighting. For that to happen, however, he needed to move.

Gordon tossed the remote back onto the bed. Virgil tried not to shift at the look he was being given. It was remarkably like that of their older brothers' and Virgil refused to let Gordon stare him down. Just because he was stuck in bed didn't mean he planned on losing his big brother authority over Gordon.

Gordon finally stood up. "Okay."

"What?" Virgil suspected a trick.

"You're right, they can't keep you in bed forever. You want to get up? I'll help you."

Virgil stared at Gordon for a moment then realised his brother meant what he said. He twisted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Slowly, Virg," Gordon said.

Virgil made to protest, then realised it was empathy in Gordon's expression. His brother was offering genuine advice having been in this situation himself. He was the one person Virgil could actually listen to right now without feeling like he was being pandered to.

He nodded and took a deep breath as he straightened up, putting his feet on the floor. Pressing his palms against the mattress, he shifted his weight and, for the first time in days, stood up. Gordon hovered by his side, one hand brushing Virgil's elbow but not actually supporting him.

He was doing it! He was standing up! Virgil grinned…

…then wobbled alarmingly.

His vision tunnelled, darkness pressing in on either side and he blinked, attempting to focus. One hand reached behind him, searching for the bed, but it didn't seem to be there. He didn't realise the cry of alarm that came from him as his legs started to buckle.

Distantly, he was aware of the door opening. But more importantly, Gordon's hand finally connected, grabbing his arm and keeping him upright. His other hand rested on Virgil's back, guiding him until Virgil could sit on the edge of the bed again.

As soon as it took his weight, he breathed deeply and felt his vision start to clear. He looked up to find Gordon watching him closely. He looked sympathetic, but also like he had known that was about to happen.

"Not as easy as you think, huh?" he said quietly.

"What the hell are you two playing at?"

Virgil swung his legs back onto the bed and lent against the pillows in exhaustion before looking at John.

His brother looked furious. But he also looked as drained as Virgil felt and he knew the anger wasn't directed at them. He shifted, though, not in the mood for a lecture. There was only one person he would allow to pull the big brother card on him right now, and it wasn't John.

Gordon moved, taking the brunt of John's glare.

"Proving a point," he said. "Or would you rather he tried on his own?"

"You knew?" Virgil said, already knowing the answer. It had been written all over Gordon's face before Virgil even tried to stand, now he was thinking about it.

Gordon sat on the edge of the bed. "'Course I did. You think we keep bringing it up, but you died, Virg. Your body has to reboot itself. You don't just walk away from that."

"You did." Virgil knew John was watching them both closely, but he stayed quiet.

"So will you, big brother. It takes time though. At least the doctors are saying only a few more days."

"Then they will tell me to take it slow," Virgil muttered bitterly. Gordon's words were sinking in though; his brother had been told he might not even walk again, let alone be up after a few days. Virgil had been lucky, but right now, that wasn't making him feel any better.

"Does it matter? It'll be faster than you can manage right now." Gordon leant over, kicking his previously vacated chair towards John, who sank into it gratefully. Virgil didn't have an argument to hand; almost fainting on his brother had undermined anything he might say.

"I hate this," he settled for muttering. Gordon grinned – knowing he had won – while John looked amused.

"This miraculous knowledge you have on recovery times only works on the mainland, right?" he said and Gordon flushed. Virgil, however, smiled. Gordon was as bad – if not worse – than the rest of them when it came to letting himself heal after a bad rescue.

Virgil forced himself to sit up a little straighter. He looked at John critically.

"You look like crap."

"Thanks." John ran his fingers through already mussed-up hair and leant back in the seat. Gordon also turned and his sharp intake of breath revealed he hadn't noticed how drawn John looked until that moment.

"Gords?" Virgil waited until he was certain he had his brother's attention. "Do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Go for a swim."

"Virg-," Gordon sat up, staring at him. Virgil jerked his head towards John.

"Please?"

Gordon looked between them, biting his lip. Virgil knew what he was thinking; he didn't want to miss anything, but they both knew John wouldn't open up if he felt pressured. Gordon was normally the one to get through to John, but this time, Virgil knew it was up to him.

The fact that John was staring into space, unaware that they were scheming around him, seemed to make up Gordon's mind.

"Don't try anything until I'm back to laugh." Gordon climbed off the bed, touched John on the shoulder and disappeared.

A minute later, John blinked and looked around.

"Where-?"

"For a swim." Virgil looked his brother in the eye. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Fine. I'm gonna go run that marathon now."

John looked as if he was going to argue, but settled for running a hand over his eyes. Virgil had thought his father had looked drawn, but it was nothing compared to John. His brother was taking it personally that he hadn't found Scott yet.

"Dad's given instructions for the plane to be fuelled."

"He can't!"

"He would have already sent me and Gords home if he thought they were keeping you in longer."

"But… Scott…" Virgil couldn't form a coherent sentence and stared helplessly at John.

"I know."

Virgil understood why John looked so bad. The island had access to more technology and his brother wouldn't have to worry about the cops seeing what he was doing. But it was too isolated: half-formed thoughts voiced out loud between cops were gold-dust to John in regards to where to focus his search. Being in Kansas – the last place Scott had been – connected them to the case, to their brother.

He knew John would be spending every waking moment trying to find a lead.

They were grown men but they all knew not to cross Jeff Tracy when the man got an idea in his head. Their dad would find a way to get them on the plane and taking off, heading for home, while they still tried to form arguments about why it wasn't a good idea. They had got their stubborn natures from somewhere, after all.

If they didn't find anything before their father gave the order, Virgil wondered if they would have a choice. But it wasn't his father's actions that made guilt churn his stomach.

"What I said before," he said hesitantly, "I didn't mean it."

He knew full well why John couldn't look him in the eye. Virgil had demanded answers and John hadn't been able to deliver them.

"You did," John said softly.

Virgil flushed but there was no blame in his brother's voice.

"I should have found something by now. He's not dead. Blag wouldn't have staged this whole thing just to kill him. Why not shoot him when they took you if that was the plan? He's out there somewhere and I can't friggin' find him!"

"You will. We will." Virgil had to believe it. He wasn't certain he would find the strength to try and get out of the bed again if not.

"What if we are too late, Virg?"

"What do you mean?" He had never heard John sound like that before and it made him shudder.

"We almost lost him even after we got him back," John said. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "We lost him to himself."

"We're not kids anymore." Virgil sat up straighter as he spoke. "He's strong. Stronger than we are."

"Strong enough to go against Blag?"

Virgil opened his mouth, froze, and shut it again. There had been terror – sheer terror and complete helplessness – in Scott's expression when Blag's men had widened the hole in the wall. The type of terror that left no room for rational thinking.

"He has to be," he muttered. There was no other option: Scott _had_ to be alright.

"We can't go back to the island," John said. He once again reached for the laptop he had left by Virgil's bedside. "Dad's even thinking of pulling Al from school."

Virgil winced. Alan was safest where he was – the school had the best security money could buy, sheltering some of the richest and most privileged kids in America. It was even safer than the island.

But it went deeper than that. He couldn't face his little brother unless he could tell him everything was going to be okay.

TBTB

Ice cold water jolted him back to alertness as tiny needles of pain pricked his skin. Scott coughed, shaking wet hair out of his face and glaring up at the man standing over him. The guard smirked and threw the bucket at his prisoner before stalking out. Scott heard him laugh even as the bolts slid home, the grating rasp of metal on metal making him shiver.

Grabbing the bucket, Scott pulled it closer. He grinned at seeing there were still a few drops left, tilting the bucket and chasing them eagerly. The cold burnt his throat, but it helped to ease the dryness.

Once it was finished, he put the bucket to one side and hugged his knees to his chest, trying to warm up. The cell was cold enough anyway; the water had just made things worse. His ribs protested the movement but Scott ignored them. There wasn't a single part of him that didn't hurt, to the point he welcomed the numbness the cold caused. He had very little body heat left, though – sitting still wasn't helping.

Putting one hand on the wall, he stood up, taking a moment to make his vision focus before starting to pace. He knew they were watching him; he hadn't been allowed to sleep for however long he had been here. Unconsciousness had brought him a few moments respite, but they wanted him awake at all times.

As soon as the message had been broadcast the men had untied him from the ceiling and advanced. Blag had settled back in a chair, a smirk on his face as he gave the order for them to do what they wanted.

They had originally pretended it was some sort of interrogation. Scott's fears that Blag knew about International Rescue had been put to rest, though; all the questions were about the armed forces. Scott knew it was a pretence – if Blag's sources were as good as he claimed, he would know Scott had left the Air Force years ago. Anything he knew would be outdated even if he did reveal it.

Eventually, they had stopped asking questions.

It wasn't the only time though. Scott had regained consciousness in his cell. To his shame, he had been changed into the clothes the guard had tried to get him to put on. He had no idea where his own were and knew his chances of seeing them again were as good as his chance of escape.

He turned, pacing back the other way, his hands clenched into fists. One smarted and Scott felt a grim satisfaction at seeing the bruising on his knuckles. He wasn't the only one who had ended the confrontation bleeding and by the time they had come for him a second time, they had been wary. Blag hadn't even been present when they had handcuffed him, forced him back to that small room and continued where they left off.

Scott had been grateful they had stopped asking questions. He knew every man had his breaking point and he wasn't far off his. It wasn't even the pain, it was the helplessness. Sitting there, hands bound, having to take what they threw at him because he had no way of fighting back... Exhaustion was dulling his senses and his mind was foggy.

As the adrenaline from his awakening started to fade, Scott stumbled. A step later and he was on his knees, a startled gasp of pain escaping him before he could stop it. He couldn't help it, though. When they had returned for him a third time, Scott had struggled, not certain he could survive another round with them. But it had meant nothing as they slammed him into a chair, binding his hands again and closing in.

The lack of sleep was starting to take its toll. Scott had no idea if he had blacked out for minutes or hours, or how long the beatings had he been missing for hours, days or weeks?

 _Had his father found out about Virgil yet?_

He owed it to his father, and Alan, to keep fighting, attempting to escape. But he owed it to the others – Virgil, John and Gordon – to take Blag down, regardless of the cost. Scott believed that was the only reason why he hadn't already passed back out again. His brothers gave him strength, just the way they always had.

But right now, he could barely stand. He had no idea how he was supposed to avenge them.

Shutting his eyes, he leant against the wall, sinking down it until he was sitting again. Exhaling, Scott then winced as his ribs protested and put a hand against them. His heart was racing and he tried to calm down. He didn't know why – it wouldn't get him anywhere – but he had always been a man in control, and this was the only thing in his power right now.

It might have worked, if he hadn't shut his eyes. But only a few moments later, a guard banged on the door. Scott didn't move and the guard snarled. The rasping of bolts gave away the man was coming in, but Scott still didn't open his eyes. He couldn't fight them, not anymore. But he could defy them.

A boot nudged him in the side and he gritted his teeth, trying to remain upright. He didn't open his eyes fast enough though and the guard kicked him again. This time, Scott went sprawling and a soft exclamation hissed through a split lip as he caught a bruise. He struggled to sit back up, adamantly refusing to look at the guard. Not reacting was the best defence he had right now. They wanted a fight but didn't seem to realise their earlier enthusiasm meant Scott couldn't even if he wanted to. Standing was enough of a hardship.

The guard grabbed his arm, dragging him to his feet. Scott put his other hand on the wall as the man shoved him. Finally satisfied that Scott was awake, he stalked towards the door.

"I'm going to kill him," Scott said.

The man stopped, giving away he at least understood English even if he couldn't speak it.

"Hit me again and I'll kill you too."

The man turned, saying something in Russian. Scott didn't need to understand to recognise the condescending smirk on his face. He clearly thought Scott had no chance.

Scott refused to think the same, despite it being a constant thought nagging in the back of his mind. Avenging his brothers was the only thing keeping him going.

As soon as the door slammed shut, he sank back to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. It offered little warmth but Scott was prepared to take whatever he could right now. He stared aimlessly around the cell, looking for inspiration. None was forthcoming and it wasn't long before he started to drift again.

Ignoring the pain and the dizziness, he stood back up. Moving slowly, he paced the cell, trying to warm up and keep awake. He wasn't ready for the men to come back and shutting his eyes was the quickest way to draw their attention. He needed to focus and think.

The broadcast was out there. Brains might have found it and, while Scott paced, be tracing it back to its source. Back-up could be on the way even now and once he had someone to keep the Russians off him, Scott would find Blag and make him pay for the years of hurt and fear he had inflicted on the entire family.

The thought burnt through him, consuming him, until Scott could stand a little straighter. He kept moving, realising it wasn't just determination warming him, but the fact he wasn't slumped against a cold wall.

He wasn't ready when he heard the bolts drawn back again, though. He backed into a corner, determined to make it as hard as possible for the men. Four spilled into the room, but while they flanked him, they didn't approach. Scott wondered what they were waiting for, until Blag himself walked in.

Scott tried to straighten up, lifting his chin as he stared at the man. On every other occasion, he had been taken from the cell back to the small room. This was something different and he didn't like the small smile playing across Blag's face as they stared at each other: Scott with contempt, Blag with amusement.

"You told my man you were going to kill me," Blag said, his tone conversational. "We both know you don't have it in you."

"You killed my brother!" Scott spat. "You'll be surprised what I have in me."

"I don't doubt you've killed - you _were_ in the military." Blag was watching him intently, but Scott didn't know what he was waiting for. "But killing a man in cold blood? That's not you, Scotty."

"You may have networks of spies," Scott said, more bravely than he felt, "but you know nothing about me."

He watched the men carefully. It didn't matter that he would be able to offer little defence when they came for him; old habits stuck and years of being in the rescue business meant he was always mindful of his surroundings, especially in situations where he had no control. Although it was normally watching for rock falls or crevices opening.

Watching the men felt more dangerous than anything nature had ever thrown at him.

"Very well," Blag said. He barked something in Russian and the men stepped back, one moving to stand directly in front of the door. The cell was so small it made little difference but Scott didn't feel as trapped.

Then, to his astonishment, Blag pulled his gun from its holster and tossed it towards him.

"It's got one shot," Blag said. "You could hit my man there," he jerked his head towards the man guarding the door, "and try and escape. Maybe you'll get out of here. Or you can kill me. You'll never get past my men though."

Scott moved cautiously, expecting a trick. But no one made to intercept him as he picked up the gun, weighing it in his hand. There was no way to tell, but he believed Blag – it only had one shot. It was the type of thing he would do– Blag was all about performance.

There was no choice, not for him. He had accepted when he first woke up in this cold, dismal cell that he wouldn't leave alive. Blag had sworn long ago he wouldn't let Scott go and being back in this situation meant Scott believed him. But, if it was the last thing he did, he was going to take down the man who had destroyed his family.

Levelling it at Blag, Scott breathed softly. His heart-rate was calm now; for the first time since this began, fate was in his hands.

As his finger began to squeeze, Blag sighed.

"You're right," he said, "I do have a network of spies. They made me believe your father was a good man."

"What?" Scott was thrown, lowering the gun a fraction.

Blag shrugged. "Clearly they were wrong if the famous Jeff Tracy raised a son who would shoot an unarmed man. What would your father think of you now, Scott?"

Scott opened his mouth, then swallowed. It would have been easy to say his father would support him and expect him to do whatever it took to not only escape, but get justice for the others.

But a memory, unbidden and unwanted, sprung into his mind. Virgil was cowering behind him, terrified as their father fought Blag at the hospital. Scott had held a gun in his hands then as well, pointed at the man. While Blag had goaded him to do it, his father had begged him not to. Scott thought it had been because he was a child. Now, he wasn't sure. Would his father want him to take Blag's life like this, cold and calculating?

 _Yes._

He was certain of it. Blag had haunted them for years and shown that he hadn't changed. It would save countless others from suffering if Scott ended it now.

His arm jerked up again.

"He'd be proud of me," he said quietly, convinced it was the truth.

Blag nodded, his smirk still lingering. He waited until, once again, Scott's finger began to squeeze, before he spoke again.

"What would your mother think?"

Scott recoiled as if struck. His entire life had been shaped by what his mother would think of him. Was he living the life she had wanted for him? Was he making her proud?

His dad had set up International Rescue in her name. To help people, to _save_ them.

What would she think of him now? Staring down a gun, preparing to pull the trigger for revenge? It didn't matter how many people Scott told himself he was helping. Pulling the trigger was for him, and his brothers. It wasn't even for justice, and he knew it.

The gun lowered again. His hand was shaking. His entire body was trembling and it wasn't the cold or the pain this time.

Blag nodded at his men. They closed in and, too late, Scott jerked the gun up again. It didn't matter, none of it mattered. Killing Blag was his only priority right now. Just as he made to pull the trigger, one of the men struck his wrist and the gun fell from his hand.

Scott dropped to his knees, scrambling for it. He shouldn't have hesitated! He could have ended it. If he hadn't waited, if he hadn't frozen in that alleyway days ago, Virgil would still be alive. He had to make it up to his brother and once again he had paused!

But someone kicked the gun and it went far beyond his reach. He didn't have the strength to get back up again but the men held him down anyway, not taking the chance.

"You thought about it," Blag said quietly, "I'll give you that much. But there's still decency left in you. By the time I'm done-," he paused, reaching out. Grabbing Scott's arm, he twisted savagely.

Scott's vision cleared. Everything was in perfect clarity as his senses went into overdrive. Sharp, hot pain raced not only through his arm, but every nerve. He didn't have the breath to scream, driven from him in a gasp that stole his strength. Spots danced in his vision and he doubled over when Blag let go, cradling his arm.

"-there'll be nothing left of you. I'm going to destroy the great Jeff Tracy by breaking you. One bone at a time, if I have to."

He backed off but Scott barely noticed. It only took one man to drag him to his feet but it took two to keep him upright.

"Take him lower," Blag ordered, "and tie him up."

He grabbed Scott's chin, lifting his head. "We're just getting started, boy."

The men pulled him out, taking him a different way to before. Scott realised there must be more than one level but that was as far as he got. They didn't make it five paces down the corridor before he passed out.

For once, the men let him escape into unconsciousness.


	22. Chapter 22

Virgil's eyes drifted shut and he stubbornly wrenched them open again. It had been years since he had fallen asleep with John in the room, but the sound of his brother typing was soothing in a way he didn't expect. He supposed he was more in tune to sounds, and the rhythm of his brother's fingers lulled him. But he also knew it was because that while John was typing, he was searching for Scott. He was trying to bring their brother home and that was all Virgil wanted right now.

"You can sleep, you know," John murmured when Virgil once again opened his eyes. He glared at his brother, but John hadn't looked up from his screen. Virgil scowled – his brother didn't _need_ to look, he knew him too well.

Despite his disastrous attempt at getting up with Gordon, his doctors had announced that very afternoon that he needed to start physical therapy. Virgil had almost refused – blacking out on his brothers was humiliating enough once, twice would be stupid. But he wasn't given a choice and found, under the therapist's careful direction, that he not only got out of bed, he even walked across the room.

It was now the third day and he could move unaided up and down the corridor. Once he was back on his feet, his muscles remembered what they needed to do and Virgil quickly felt stronger. It helped too that it tired him out: he started sleeping properly rather than dozing all day, which in turn made him feel better.

"I'm not tired," he protested. His session that morning _had_ tired him, but being able to get out of bed stimulated him. Lying in bed wasn't good enough anymore – he needed to be actively helping to find Scott. While John continued tapping on his keyboard, though, Virgil couldn't stop yawning.

"You're also not five," John said. He was frowning at the screen, chewing his lower lip. "Just give into it."

Virgil didn't answer. He didn't want to distract John. His father and Gordon were still seeing Matt off and he wished he could have gone as well. He had been with his doctors when Matt had planned to leave and he didn't blame the man for not wanting to wait.

His friend had been hollow-eyed with a vacant expression of helplessness on his face when he returned from the house. He hadn't found anything – just as Virgil expected. Nicole had stated she was taking him home, and no one had argued. They deserved to be home with their three children, not waiting around in a hospital for no reason. The twins would be a better balm for their father than any medication the hospital could provide.

Virgil's therapist had arrived then, ushering everyone out so she could work with Virgil. But he had seen the look on his father's face even as he escorted his secretary and agent towards the nurse's station.

His father had been his boss, his commander, since International Rescue had started. But in that moment, Virgil had seen just his dad, a man desperately wanting to be reunited with his own children. It was that look that made Virgil feel they were running out of time. Their dad would take them back to the island as soon as he could, not because he didn't want them looking for Scott, but because he couldn't face another wait to find out if three of his sons were alive or dead.

He shifted, restless. Neither his father nor Gordon had returned, although Virgil had expected them back a while ago. He was glad: being in a hospital room wasn't good for his brother and seeing his father's defeat was too much of a painful reminder that they hadn't found Scott.

Staring at the ceiling, Virgil realised John's rhythm was faltering. He was typing faster and faster, a frantic pace that made him miss keys. The others wouldn't have noticed, but Virgil was attuned to sound patterns in a way they weren't. Sitting up, he looked at his brother. John was taking shallow breaths, a flush rising up his neck that contrasted with his otherwise pale face. He wasn't even blinking.

"Johnny-," Virgil murmured, reluctant to break John's concentration. But his heart was hammering hard. John didn't reach this level of focus even on a difficult rescue. It could only mean one thing - and Virgil was terrified to know.

"What've you got?"

"I don't know," John muttered, not looking up. "I'm into something. I haven't seen firewalls like this before and everything is encrypted."

"But-,"

"Exactly." John fleetingly looked up before resuming his frantic pace.

Virgil swallowed. The dark side of the web was a mystery to him, but he knew from John it was dangerous: viruses and encryptions were commonplace there. It was the darker side of the world they needed to access now, searching for places most people didn't know existed.

"You've found him?" His words fell heavy into silence and John didn't react. Virgil watched him, knowing by the tense set of John's shoulders that it was taking all of his skill to stop the system from shutting him out.

However good his brother was, Virgil knew their enemy was better. Not due to skill, but to his ruthlessness. John must have been chasing leads for days to be dragged this far into the network and Virgil knew it was the security and power from Thunderbird Five that meant his brother's ordinary looking laptop hadn't been corrupted. He, too, remembered what had happened to the last laptop John had used to try and find Scott all those years ago.

The door opening made him jump and he looked over as his father entered. The man looked more relaxed than earlier that morning but his frown appeared again as he looked at John.

"If we weren't leaving in an hour, I'd make you sleep," he said.

"What?" Virgil had intended to speak, to draw his dad's attention so John could continue working. But the word blurted from him more bluntly than he meant to and he looked anxiously at his brother. They couldn't go now; not now they were getting somewhere!

His dad moved to the bed, squeezing his shoulder with a smile.

"You've responded well to physical therapy," he said, having mistaken Virgil's cry for excitement. "They've spoken to Brains and Kyrano has offered an inventory of the equipment we have back home. They're happy that you'll do just as well there as you will here and everyone agrees fresh air will do you all good."

"Brains isn't on the planet."

"The doctor doesn't know that." His dad let go and stepped back, looking around. Being stuck in bed with two anxious brothers meant that the room was a mess. Virgil remained slumped as his dad pulled a bag from under the bed (Virgil had no memory of who had put it there) and started tossing things in.

Virgil watched him for a moment, then looked at John. His brother was hunched further over, his fingers still racing. Virgil wasn't sure if he knew their dad was even in the room.

"I thought you'd be pleased." His dad sounded hurt and Virgil looked at him, realising the man was watching him as closely as he was monitoring John. He shrugged, looking at the plain bedspread rather than hold his dad's gaze.

"It's not home," he muttered, fingers absently picking at the blanket. "Not without Scott."

"I know." His father's tone was gentle and he perched on the bed. "I will do whatever it takes to bring your brother home," he continued. "You have my word. But after what has happened, I can't risk you three again."

"But-,"

"I _can't_! Hopefully, one day, you'll be a father yourself, and then you'll understand. But I need you to be safe. Once you three are home, I can start arranging to bring Alan back to the island as well."

Virgil didn't look up, his hands shaking. He needed to tell the man that they were closing in on Scott and John only needed a little longer. But he dreaded to think what lengths his father would go to in order to prevent them from going after Scott themselves. They couldn't rescue their brother if their father had John and Gordon admitted (they were exhausted enough to warrant it!) and Virgil confined to his bed. It was drastic – but that was their family. They never did anything in half measures.

"Here."

Virgil looked up at the different tone in his dad's voice and realised the man was holding something out to him. His first genuine smile spread across his face as he fastened his watch back around his wrist.

"I'm never taking it off again," he muttered, fingers toying with the buttons but not pressing anything.

"John fixed it," his dad said, an amused note in his voice. Virgil flushed: he had taken it off to try and improve the security of the penthouse. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"Come on," his dad continued, "let's get you out of here."

Virgil was pleased he could get up and dressed without needing assistance. His strength was returning nicely now both his appetite and exhaustion had been sorted. He didn't feel like a hike or running a rescue, but he was positive he could handle most things now without needing support.

Straightening up from tying his shoes, Virgil frowned. His father had gone to sort his release papers and find a wheelchair (ignoring his son's protests!) but Virgil had no idea when John had also slipped out.

"John?" It was stupid; his brother wasn't there. But Virgil looked around before moving. Just as he reached the door, it opened from the other side.

"Eager to leave?" His dad was standing there, a smile on his face. Virgil nodded distractedly, barely noticing the wheelchair his father was pushing. He tried peering into the corridor beyond, but he couldn't see.

"You know the drill, Virg," his dad said softly. Virgil blinked, then realised what was going on. He scowled, but obediently sat down. Getting out of the room was the only way he would find John: his father was effectively blocking the door.

"Well that was boring," a familiar voice said. Virgil looked up as Gordon sauntered down the corridor. Despite his relaxed attitude, he had lost weight and there was a pinched look about him. Virgil felt a flash of guilt; he should be making sure Gordon was somewhere safe where he could rest, not thinking of ways to avoid returning to the island. But the thought fled as quickly as it came: his brother would be furious with him for thinking it.

Gordon was alone, however. Virgil looked in either direction, then caught his brother's eye. Mouthing John's name, he saw Gordon start before looking around. When Gordon frowned at him, Virgil nodded. He knew what he was asking, and yes, John had found something.

Their dad suddenly moved the wheelchair, turning it towards the exit.

"Where's your brother?"

"Restroom," Gordon said promptly. "Actually, I'm just gonna-," he gestured vaguely in the direction of the restrooms and hurried away before their dad could say anything. Virgil heard the man tut, but then they started moving down the corridor.

He was thinking of ways to distract his father but as soon as they got outside, his mind went blank. All he could focus on was the sun on his face. It had been so long since he had been outside, been _free_ , that Virgil sucked in an audible breath, gripping the armrests to stop his hands shaking.

His father squeezed his shoulder, understanding his emotions.

They waited for a few moments, but neither John nor Gordon appeared. His father started shifting in annoyance and Virgil played – casually – with his watch.

It only took seconds for Gordon to respond to his messages with one of his own: stall their father.

"Maybe they went back to the hotel?" he suggested innocently. His father pulled out his cell and started making calls while Virgil stared at the doors, willing his brothers to appear. He wasn't certain how long he could distract his dad before he grew suspicious.

When Gordon signalled they needed more time, Virgil tried not to roll his eyes.

"Have you cleared our flight path?" he asked, knowing full well what the response was. His father looked agitated and shook his head.

"If your brothers don't hurry up, we're going to be waiting ages at the airstrip until we can take off."

"Why don't we meet them there?" Virgil seized the idea. "They can get a cab, right?"

"I don't want to leave without them."

Virgil knew his father's reluctance was no shallow thing. He took a deep breath, mentally apologised for lying, and spoke again.

"I just want to go home," he said softly.

It was enough. His dad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Call your brothers," he said, "and tell them to meet us there. I'll get the car."

He was striding across the parking lot before Virgil had the chance to obey. But it gave him the excuse he needed to call Gordon without trying to hide his movements.

"Don't be long," he ordered as soon as Gordon connected, "If Dad flips, he'll never listen to us."

" _Virg_ -," It was all Gordon said. It was all he needed to say.

A loud ringing filled Virgil's ears. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs and his breath caught. He tried to speak, but his voice failed. He swallowed, hardly daring to hope, scarcely able to believe…

Blag had planned this perfectly. Every move they had made, he had been waiting. But this wasn't a trick, not this time…it couldn't be.

Virgil's vision tunnelled until he was staring at his watch, his connection to International Rescue and therefore his brother. He pressed his cell against his ear with a trembling hand.

"You've found him?" It was a croak, a whisper, a breath…and Gordon heard him perfectly.

His brother quickly reported he had found John in the toilets, only their brother had been pale and shaking. Even while Virgil had listened to their dad ordering them home, John had broken through the encrypted networks and finally found a solid lead on Scott. Once he was through, he had been forced to watch Scott, bound and gagged, being ransomed off by an all-too-familiar voice.

John had kept the connection for enough time to establish that Scott was in Russia before something had forced him from the system.

" _John's trying to narrow it down_ ," Gordon said, " _but he can't get back in_."

The car pulled up and Virgil knew he had to end the conversation.

"Get out here," he said, "Johnny can carry on while we're in the air. At least we'll be going in the right direction."

" _Why can't we tell Dad now?"_

"We have to be there, Gords. If Dad knows, he'll leave us here."

" _F.A.B."_

"Just get here before Dad leaves without you."

Gordon acknowledged, then signed off just as their dad got out the car. He was frowning, his irritation obvious. Virgil couldn't conceal something had happened: living on an island meant secrets were the one luxury they couldn't buy. He spoke quickly, hoping his words would be enough to distract his father.

"Gords found John," Virgil said, "he's not well."

While he knew his brother wouldn't be impressed at being under scrutiny from their father, it was the easiest way to defuse the man's temper. Once they were in the air, they could narrow the location and persuade their father to change direction. He wanted Scott back as much as they did: with an exact location, he wouldn't risk delaying. But Virgil wanted to be in the air before they broke the news; he didn't trust his dad not to leave them grounded while he attempted to rescue Scott on his own.

Virgil started drumming his fingers on the armrest. He tried to rise, but the look on his father's face stopped him. It was the chair or the car, and he wasn't ready to come out of the sun yet. Despite the best part of a week in bed, his patience hadn't developed and just as he thought about contacting the guys again, they appeared.

John was still pale, making the bags under his eyes more prominent. Virgil realised he had inadvertently told their dad the truth: John wasn't well. Gordon looked as bad and Virgil wasn't surprised; knowing what was happening to Scott was making his own stomach roll and he hadn't seen anything.

Virgil remained seated as his dad looked at John closely.

"Are you able to fly?" he asked, concern lacing his tone. "I want you to get some sleep as soon as we're airborne. All of you, in fact." He stepped back, looking at Virgil and Gordon as well, "I want you to rest."

"Who's co-piloting?" Virgil mumbled, trying to deny that a sleep sounded good right now. His father looked at him, one eyebrow lifted.

"None of you are fit to fly."

"Are you?" Gordon retorted. "You've had less rest than the rest of us. Rather not crash into the Atlantic, thanks, much as I could do with a swim."

The scathing look wasn't aimed at him, but Virgil still winced. Gordon suddenly found the ground interesting.

"Get in the car. All of you."

They hastened to obey and an awkward silence fell over them as they pulled out of the parking lot. It should have been a moment of triumph, but Virgil sighed heavily. They were closing in on where Scott was; it didn't mean they were any closer to bringing him home yet.

Gordon redeemed himself by offering to call the airfield and sort out their flight plan. Virgil listened in disbelief as his brother manipulated the conversation until the operator agreed he could send the plan over digitally. He had forgotten how charming Gordon could be when he wanted. His brother pulled out a tablet, tapped at it for a few moments before handing it to John.

"Check this for me, will you? You know I'm crap at navigating above the sea."

John looked at it, then nodded at Gordon. When he caught Virgil's eye, he winked and Virgil tried not to sag. They might not know exactly where they were going, but at least they could head towards Russia without causing problems.

They reached the plane and their father left them to get comfortable while he went to clear the final details. They all crossed their fingers that the operator didn't ask why they were going to Russia, but their dad simply told them to strap in when he got back.

Half an hour later and they were airborne. John plugged his laptop in, rolled his neck and set to work. Gordon stretched out, his eyes closing. Virgil wished he had the same ability as his kid brother: Gordon could sleep anywhere. Multiple times Virgil had been forced to wake him when they reached the island after a rescue.

Virgil watched him, glad Gordon could find some peace. When Scott had admitted he didn't know if the other two had survived the explosion, Virgil had been convinced they were dead. Watching his little brother sleep was comforting in its own right.

"You too, Virg."

He started, realising John was watching him in the same way. Virgil shook his head.

"Can't I help?" he asked, "I'm bored of sleeping."

John shook his head. "This has to be me," he said with an anxious glance at the door separating them from their father. "You need to save your strength."

Virgil sighed. Knowing John was right and accepting it were two different things. But his brother had a point: he already had no idea how he was going to brace himself for facing Blag again. He had limited energy reserves at it was.

"Wake me as soon as you find anything," he instructed before tipping his chair back and closing his eyes. A few moments later, and he smiled, feeling the weight of a blanket settle over him. He opened his eyes enough to watch John do the same to Gordon before his brother picked up his laptop again. For the second time that day, Virgil lost himself to the sound of John typing.

He dozed rather than slept and when John's hand rested on his shoulder, his eyes shot open, alertness flooding him.

"You've got him?"

The expression on John's face answered the question even as he shook Gordon awake. They all gathered around Virgil's seat.

"It's a scrambled signal, something is blocking it," John reported, "which got me thinking. They're underground, probably with a ton of concrete in between them and a satellite. So I did some digging and there's an area in North Russia scattered with underground bunkers left over from the 2046 nuclear war."

"Do you know which one?"

Virgil wouldn't have realised it was Gordon speaking if he wasn't sitting next to him: he had never heard his brother sound that deadly before.

John shook his head. "Not for sure. But I've hacked the feed from Five and one of them has had more heat signals moving around it the last few days. It's our best shot."

"I'll tell Dad," Gordon said, making to stand. Virgil held out a hand.

"I'll do it." He hauled himself up and took a step towards the door.

"Virg-,"

"Scott came for me," Virgil said. "He's in this because of _me_. Again!"

"Go, Virg," John said softly. Virgil realised his hands were scrunched into fists and the sheer emotion overwhelming him right now was going to be instrumental in forcing his father to listen.

He knocked lightly (not wanting to make the man jump) and slipped into the cockpit. His father glanced at him before focusing on the controls. He could have put the plane on autopilot but Virgil understood too well the need to be doing something.

"How're you feeling?"

"Dad-,"

It was all he was capable of saying. Everything swam and he was vaguely aware of his father switching the plane to autopilot before a hand on his shoulder guided him into a seat. But only a small part of him noticed these things.

 _They had found Scott._

"Virgil?" His father's hands cradled his neck, helping him focus. "What is it?"

"We can't go home," he whispered. His dad sighed, backed away and sank into his seat.

"We've been through this-,"

Virgil shook his head. "We've found him."

"What?" His father paled. In a twisted way, it helped Virgil ground himself. He was used to being the one in control while others panicked, and that was needed now.

"John's found Scott," he said simply. Now wasn't the time to go into what John had spent days doing; their dad must have known they weren't just going to sit there. But John had failed against Blag before and Virgil wondered if, deep down, their father had assumed John would meet his match again.

"Where?" His father's voice was hoarse but Virgil sagged back in his seat in relief. The man believed them!

"Russia." Virgil quickly outlined all they knew. Gordon had sounded deadly before. But it was nothing compared to the expression on his dad's face when Virgil finished speaking and he involuntarily shivered. This was a man who would do whatever it took to get his son back.

His hands tightened on the controls and Virgil was convinced he was about to swing the plane around right then.

Then he ran a hand over his face and the familiar look of exhaustion and worry appeared.

"I can drop you-,"

"No." Virgil lent forward, preparing to stop his father if necessary. They didn't have time to stop somewhere so they could be kicked off the plane and left behind. It was their right to go after their brother.

"I have to get you home-,"

"Dad, no," he said. "You don't."

Virgil attempted to smile when his dad looked at him. He looked lost, torn. Get three sons to safety, or risk them knowing it might be the only way to save a fourth?

"We can do this," Virgil said, his voice gaining strength. "Scott's trained us. Gordon's done this before. This is Scott we're talking about: we have a right to fight for our brother."

"It's too dangerous."

"Any less than flying up to an erupting volcano and winching down onto ground level? We've done dangerous before; you give the order for us to approach danger every time a klaxon goes off."

"That's different! You have machinery, you have…"

"Each other." Virgil sat back. He knew, deep down, that he would get his way. His dad wouldn't even be having this conversation if he had truly made up his mind. "It's just another rescue, Dad, just like we've done hundreds of times."

"I don't know, Virgil…"

Virgil lost any attempt at being calm and rational. "Dad, its _Scott._ I am _not_ going home without my brother. He's in this because of me and I swear to God, I am not leaving him there. He came for me; every time, he comes back for me. I'm not abandoning him now."

He was breathing hard, his hands clenched again. Scott had walked into his worst nightmare just to try and protect him – just the way he had ventured into an alleyway to keep him safe all those years ago.

A hand suddenly squeezed the back of his neck.

"Strap in," his dad said. He returned to the controls again, his knuckles white. Virgil watched as he lifted a cover, gradually drawing a lever back. Virgil felt the plane lurch and knew they were about to find out precisely what Brains had done to the engines.

"Don't worry about the flight path," Virgil muttered, "Gords has already sorted it."

His father opened his mouth, shut it and shook his head before speaking. "You boys are trouble," he said, fondly.

Virgil grinned, a sinister smile he didn't recognise. "It's time Blag learns that."


	23. Chapter 23

_These boys do not like to do as they are told! Another nightmare chapter...although I think I'm blaming Jeff this time! Thanks for sticking with me._

* * *

Virgil didn't need to tell his brothers their dad was changing course - they saw it in his demeanour as soon as he stepped out of the cockpit. Adrenaline was masking his aches but he wasn't alone: Gordon's eyes were glinting and there was a dangerous expression on John's face. They were ready – nothing was going to stand in their way now they knew where their brother was.

Sinking into a seat, Virgil dragged a hand over his face.

"Here," John said, shifting so he was in-between them and balancing his laptop precariously. "This is where we're going."

He indicated the area and they passed some time using every satellite John had access to (through whatever means necessary) to try and work out precisely where they were going and what would be waiting for them. Unfortunately, John's previous assumptions seemed to be true: whatever complex was there was sunk into the ground and they couldn't find plans anywhere. They were going in blind.

When Virgil said that out loud, Gordon stood. He shifted and pressed on a panel. It slid back and Virgil gaped. There was a mini-armoury concealed in the plane: rifles, handguns and what looked like a grenade were securely placed on specifically designed shelves.

"You have to stop doing that," John said. "Seriously."

Gordon winked and Virgil decided he didn't want to know.

"It's for Dad. Brains doesn't trust the rest of the world," Gordon said. "More like he doesn't want anyone getting their hands on the plane. But still… I'm not complaining."

Gordon pulled out a handgun, testing the weight before putting it back. Virgil knew there would be time for that later – they needed a plan before they could decide what to take.

"How'd you know about it?" he asked. Their father must know – Brains wouldn't have installed it without his boss's permission. But John's surprise had been genuine; he hadn't known any more than Virgil had.

"Dared Al to steal the blueprints, didn't I?" Gordon shrugged, then saw their expressions and rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't tell the kid what Brains had in here. Give me some big brother credit."

Virgil stood up. He joined Gordon, one hand ghosting over the weapons. He longed for one in his hand. For the first time since Blag's men had jumped him outside the penthouse, he would be able to fight back. He wanted one _now_ \- he wanted to be there and end this.

"We need a plan," he said, turning his back on the guns and facing his brothers. That was what Scott would do: plan it out, know what he was up against and be prepared.

"In. Get Scott. Out."

John sniggered at Gordon's words and Virgil grinned, despite himself. They had no idea what they were walking in on.

It wasn't possible to plan.

"You know what Scott would say to that?" John said quietly.

Virgil shared a look with Gordon. "Consider the variables," they said together. It was their brother's favourite phrase when they were on a rescue and not certain what they were up against.

Before anything else was said, the cockpit door slid open and their father appeared.

"I need to know what I'm flying into," he said. "If you're asking me to risk your lives, the least I can do is know what we're up against."

His tone stopped them from arguing: they all knew he could still turn the plane around. It made sense: Virgil was forever pestering Scott for additional details when he was on the final approach to a danger zone on a rescue.

Virgil looked out of the window as Gordon admitted they didn't have one. They were closing in on Scott's location even as they spoke. Virgil hoped they weren't too late.

"I've contacted our agent," their father said. "She's in contact with the authorities but struggling to make them listen – she has no proof to show them and everyone has avoided these areas since the nuclear explosions years ago. They won't go in without evidence."

John instantly pulled his laptop closer.

"I'll give her something," he muttered. Virgil knew he would leave a trail for the authorities to follow while making it look authentic.

Virgil glanced at Gordon when their father continued to look at them.

"What?"

"I want positionings. Order of command, weapons, ammunition… I want a plan."

"We don't-"

"You should stay by the radio, Dad," Gordon said, nudging Virgil. Virgil took the hint and stayed quiet. "In case something comes back from Llina. We'll have a plan by the time we get there."

The note of confidence in Gordon's voice made it hard to protest. Their father rose, looked as if he was going to say something, thought better of it and returned to the cockpit. Gordon shadowed him, making sure the door was shut behind him.

"You don't want him coming in with us," Virgil said, watching him. Gordon shook his head as he returned to his seat.

"He has more experience and training than the rest of us put together. Even you," Virgil pressed.

Gordon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Blag started this to make Dad co-operate," he said, his voice low. John's fingers faltered, indicating he was listening. "Dad goes in there and we're playing right into his hands. We'd do anything to get Scott back, right? How far do you think Dad would go with us in there too?"

Virgil didn't have an answer. Neither did John. His brother snapped the laptop shut, rolled his neck and sat forward.

"We need a plan," he said.

They started running through every scenario they could think of. If they found five, ten, a hundred men inside… If Scott would help or hinder them… If their brother could or couldn't move…

 _What they would do if they found Blag._

They all knew they had to end this. Prison couldn't hold the madman – the fact they were even having this discussion was testimony to that. John suggested the Global Defence Force and, verbally at least, both Virgil and Gordon agreed. They had facilities more secure than a prison and the isolation might prevent Blag from orchestrating another break out. They couldn't be sure though… Leavenworth was supposed to be one of the highest security facilities and he had walked out.

But Virgil looked away when he spoke. When he looked back, Gordon was pale, his eyes overly-bright. John was massaging his shoulder absently, not knowing he was doing it. Two distance cries of terror rang faintly in Virgil's ears: his own screams when Scott had been taken years ago, and his brother's shouts when Blag had dragged him out of the crypt.

This man had destroyed their family.

He shuddered, suddenly cold. At the same time Gordon stood and paced to the window, staring out at nothing. None of them had come through this unscathed and the thought of locking Blag up only for him to break out again was not an option. They had to end this – or lose themselves and each other to their demons. Virgil wasn't certain what he was capable of when it came to protecting himself. When it came to saving his family, however, Scott was not the only one who would do whatever it took.

Eventually, they ran out of plausible scenarios. Their father checked in a few times but Gordon always deflected questions and refused to commit to specifics, claiming they needed more time. Virgil knew he was afraid of letting on that he didn't plan on the man accompanying them. Until they had arrived - until leaving without Scott wasn't an option - Gordon was keeping quiet.

"I'll take point, John," Gordon said quietly, holding up a hand to stem their protests. "I've got the quickest reactions: I'll get us in."

John nodded, although the reluctance was obvious in his face. Virgil felt he had been punched, stealing his breath. He _knew_ there was something he was missing from Gordon's plans and couldn't believe it had taken until now for him to catch on.

"No!" His heart was hammering hard as he stared at his brothers, fingers gripping the armrest. They both stared back, their expressions unwavering but Gordon couldn't hold his gaze. "I'm coming with you."

"You're not."

"You're not side-lining me!

"Sorry, kid." John was calm, his expression the same one Virgil had known his entire life when he'd had an idea and John thought he was being an idiot.

"I'm the one he kidnapped!" Virgil protested, "I'm the one he killed!"

"Exactly." Gordon's voice was deadly serious and Virgil was once again reminded of how like John he could be when he wanted. Gordon finally looked at him.

"You were only released from hospital hours ago," John continued, his voice calm. "You're not ready for a fight. Besides-,"

He broke off and Virgil knew he wasn't going to like what his brother said next.

"Blag knows you. He took you to use you against Scott. If he sees you, if he gets hold of you again… do you have any idea what that would do to our brother?"

Virgil winced. Unfortunately, John was right. He wouldn't be instrumental in breaking Scott – if it wasn't already far too late for that. But his brothers were also wrong: he had no intention of being left behind. He would simply have to make certain that Blag didn't get the upper hand over him again.

They continued to discuss scenarios, although they were repeating what they had already said: there was nothing left to talk about. Virgil played his cards just right; his brothers believed he was reluctant to stay behind but he would do what they asked. John watched him suspiciously, but he gave no sign he realised Virgil was planning something.

Virgil was all too aware he had only just been released from hospital. But he had been there for a week – an entire week that Scott had been at Blag's mercy. His own 'death' would have done more harm to his brother than anything Blag could do, and he had to make that right.

"We're landing," Gordon said, moving to the window. "It's so white out there!"

Virgil joined him while John picked up a gun. The plane touched down smoothly but the only thing Virgil noticed was a dark concrete door. The roof of the bunker was visible only through a bulge in the snow, but his gaze fixed on the door.

 _Scott was down there…_

"Report." Their father appeared and Virgil reluctantly turned his gaze away while Gordon outlined the plan. Their father nodded once when Gordon said that only he and John were going in, then held out his hand. Gordon looked nonplussed.

"Gun," the man ordered.

"But-,"

"It's a good plan, Gordon. But you're not going in there alone."

"Dad, no."

"We don't have time for this," John murmured, standing by the door. "They'll have heard us."

"Then let them come." Their father didn't even look around. "I'm coming with you."

John's hand was on the switch to operate the door. There was a wild desperation on Gordon's face and Virgil sighed. He shared his brother's fears: this had all started because Blag wanted to coerce their father. The idea of losing Scott made him feel light-headed. But the thought of something happening to their dad...

He had to do something – Blag would know they were here and there was nothing stopping him from killing Scott now just to prevent a rescue. He also _really_ needed his father to stay in the plane – they couldn't leave it unmanned and Virgil had no intention of staying behind, regardless of what his brothers thought. He concentrated on all the aches and pains and knew when John frowned at him that it was working; he was turning pale.

"Go," Virgil said. He stepped forward, then stopped and blinked rapidly.

"Dad-," he made his voice faint. As the man turned to look at him, Virgil fought against his instincts and let his legs crumble. He didn't hit the floor though; his dad caught him, just as Virgil knew he would.

"The door's opening," John cried, twisting to peer through the window. Virgil heard his father swallow.

"Go," the man said gravely. "Get your brother."

John slammed his hand onto the switch and the door started opening. Both John and Gordon leapt out without lowering the steps. It saved precious seconds and the snow cushioned their drop.

His father helped him into a chair.

"The radio," Virgil murmured weakly, pushing at his father. "I'm supposed to monitor the radio."

"It will be okay-," his father began, trying to feel his forehead. Virgil pushed him away, attempting to rise.

"No. I have-," he gestured vaguely in the direct of the cockpit. His father pushed him back into the seat.

"I'll check it," the man said, humouring him. He rose, crossed to the cockpit and vanished from Virgil's view.

Virgil sprang out of the seat, then was forced to pause for a second as a genuine bout of light-headedness protested his sudden movement. He slipped to the door and locked it. He knew Brains – knew there would be an override switch, probably an override of that one as well – and it wouldn't hold his father for long. But it gave him a few precious moments to work with.

He moved to the window again. There was a figure lying motionless in the snow and Virgil knew their arrival had indeed been detected. The door to the bunker was open, and Virgil shuddered at the blackness that oozed from it. Then he steeled himself. Scott was in there, meaning it was where Virgil had to go.

He opened another panel, grabbing supplies and tossing them on the chair behind him while he searched. Eventually, he opened a small case and grinned. Brains hadn't just given them a way to defend themselves; he had ensured they could patch themselves up again afterwards. There was a well-stocked first aid kit that would have made Virgil laugh at Brains' paranoia if he didn't have need of it now.

The muscle relaxer made him sigh as it eased the aches running through his body. He kept the other needle in his hand, knowing he had to move fast as soon as it started working.

He moved towards the cockpit, hesitating. His dad hadn't tried the door yet and Virgil hoped that Llina had made contact and was even now reassuring them that the authorities had listened and were on their way.

Muttering an unheard apology to the man, Virgil gripped the needle and jammed it into his arm, pressing the plunger. He gasped as adrenaline flooded him and, suddenly, it didn't matter that he had just got out of hospital.

Scott was the only thing that mattered.

He grabbed his father's previously discarded gun and extra ammunition before making the same drop his brothers had, swearing when he landed in the cold snow. It was hard running in such conditions, but Virgil sprinted for the door, adrenaline overcoming his caution.

He nearly fell down the steps, the darkness obscuring them. Virgil ducked away from the door, knowing he would be an easy target with the brightness of the snow behind him. Once he was shrouded in shadows though, he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. After a moment, he could make out dim shapes and set off, carefully this time.

He was in a long corridor. There were objects lining it; crates or boxes of some sort. Virgil saw two figures crouched behind one and knew his brothers hadn't got very far. He wondered why, then a burst of gunfire made him duck and sprint to join them.

Gordon heard him coming and turned, gun raised defensively. Anger overtook his expression as Virgil skidded to a stop, crouching behind their shelter.

"What the hell are you doing?"

John turned at Gordon's words. Virgil opened his mouth, and all three of them ducked as a round of bullets slammed into their crate.

"Go back," Gordon hissed.

"No."

"You-,"

John held up a hand, silencing Gordon. He then called something down the tunnel. Virgil recognised Russian when he heard it, even if he didn't understand what his brother said. There was no answer – either verbal or more gunfire.

"What did you say?" he asked, aware Gordon was also staring at John. His brother shrugged.

"That we were friends." He paused, then frowned. "Or we didn't like fish; they have a very strange dialect."

John lifted his head, peering over the crate. Gordon yanked him back down just as someone took another shot.

"That answers that," Virgil muttered, but speaking only drew Gordon's attention.

"Get out of here."

"No way. I've done-,"

"WASP, remember?" Gordon spat. His hand was shaking and Virgil knew it wasn't anger – it was the adrenaline of the entire situation. "Don't say you've done more fieldwork and don't you dare try and pull the big brother card on me."

"I can handle it," Virgil retorted, "I'm more experienced than John."

"Virg, you _died!"_

"I'm fine!"

"What did you take?" John asked and Virgil shifted under the look. There was a reason why Gordon didn't want Virgil pulling that trick on him: none of them were immune to a big brother's stare.

"Does it matter? I'm here. You guys are here. Scott's here – somewhere. Let's skip to the happy reunion part?"

Gordon looked as if he was going to protest but John shook his head. "If you die – again – I have permission to say I-told-you-so from now until eternity?"

"No," Virgil said. "Gordon does."

It was his peace-offering to his brother and Gordon took it with an eyeroll.

"We're not going to get anywhere if we can't get down this corridor," Gordon muttered. Virgil nodded, stood and let off a wild shot down the corridor. There was a thud and a yell of pain and the three brothers exchanged startled looks. Virgil hadn't even been aiming.

"Go!" Gordon shoved the pair of them, darting past before running down the corridor, yelling as he did so. Virgil exchanged looks with John.

"Subtle, isn't he?"

But Gordon's shock tactics worked – no one fired at him and Virgil quickly followed him, John on his heels. They found themselves in a small room with three corridors leading off. One was the way they had just come, then two went in either direction. Virgil paused, looking between them, but Gordon grabbed his arm and pulled him down behind a table before flipping it, using it as a shield. There were sounds coming from one of the corridors and Virgil assumed that was where the shooters were regrouping.

"Now what?" John asked. All of their plans and discussions vanished now that they were in. They both looked at Gordon, who was chewing his lip as he looked around.

"Virgil, take that corridor," he said, gesturing one way. "And find Scott."

"What about you guys?"

Gordon checked his gun before grinning. "We'll hold them here. We don't know how many men he has: stay alert. There's at least half a dozen in that corridor though – we'll keep them here."

Virgil nodded. For all he knew, he was about to walk into an ambush. But they knew this was never going to be easy and he was more than prepared to take a few down with him if that was what it took to save Scott. He started to rise but John grabbed his wrist.

"Wait," he said. "What if Blag's down there?"

Virgil lifted his gun. "I'll make sure he doesn't have lackeys to hold me back this time."

John let go, although Virgil saw too clearly the reluctance in his expression. He always overthought everything, always liked to have a plan in place. With two younger brothers in the midst of it, Virgil knew how hard John was finding this.

"We'll be okay, Johnny," he said, "I promise."

Virgil never gave promises he couldn't keep and John knew it. His brother nodded and Virgil stood. Gordon tossed him something and Virgil pocketed the small laser-cutter, knowing full well it was the only reason why Gordon had been able to pull him out of the crypt in time.

Gordon covered him as he ran for the corridor and he disappeared into the darkness, hearing the shooters emerging from their hiding places and converging on his brothers. He prayed they had trapped all the men Blag had but his finger never left the trigger as he darted down the corridor.

He slowed. The strip lighting was feeble and flickering but anyone coming would be announced by their shadow. Virgil moved carefully and before long, came to a row of doors set into the wall. He peered into one, and shuddered. It might have been a survival bunker originally, but it was clear the place had been used as a prison since then.

But the cells were empty and Virgil shivered when he realised the corridor was sloping, leading deeper into the ground. He swallowed, his mouth dry, and kept moving. Scott was down here somewhere.

 _So was Blag._

He caught the first man by surprise, having caught a glimpse of his shadow before the man came around the corner. Virgil's gun slammed into his head before the man even had time to aim and Virgil took great satisfaction in locking him in one of the cells.

The next couple weren't as easy, but adrenaline and anger was pounding through Virgil and he didn't notice any blows they dealt him. He was surprised they didn't just shoot him, but it gave him the advantage; he was able to disarm and neutralise the threat with nothing more than a bloody nose. Gordon – and Scott – would be proud of him.

As he continued, Virgil was convinced he was alone. Blag couldn't keep a vast number of men underground without it backfiring – the thugs he was hiring wouldn't be able to live together peacefully for long. Once he had Scott contained, he would only need a few to keep him under control – Virgil knew first-hand that he had drugs and restraints to do half the work for him.

He didn't know how far he had gone but he couldn't hear the sounds of the fight above him any longer. When a door suddenly swung open just in front of him, Virgil jumped but he wasn't the only one taken by surprise.

"Chekov," Virgil snarled, the gun lifting. He felt the hard tarmac pressing into his knees, craning his head to look up as Chekov drugged him before dragging him onto the plane. Blag's causal discussion of the way the man had set up his own brother. Chekov's blows when he beat him on Blag's orders…

The man raised his hands, but there was a mocking smirk on his face. He wasn't afraid. He didn't need to be: Virgil had experienced first hand what the man could do. As Chekov beckoned him forward, saying something he didn't understand, Virgil shook his head.

"I'm not playing your game," he said, "not this time."

Chekov's smirk faded and he reached for his belt. A knife was in his hand and the man was stepping forward before Virgil realised what was happening. Chekov came on the attack and Virgil did the only thing left open to him: he shot him in the leg.

Chekov collapsed with a cry but the knife was still in his hand. Virgil wrenched it free, tossing it away before jamming the gun under Chekov's chin.

"Where's my brother?"

Chekov threw his weight backwards, sending Virgil stumbling. But his leg wouldn't support his weight and he couldn't get off the floor. Virgil aimed the gun again, ignoring the shaking of his hand.

"Where is he?" he repeated. Chekov spat and Virgil realised the man either wouldn't answer or wouldn't tell him the truth. His hand grasped for his belt again and Virgil realised there was a radio strapped to it.

Stepping forward, he slammed the gun into the back of the man's head. The chances were that the gunshot had been heard already, but Virgil didn't want Blag to know exactly who had infiltrated his hideout. He wondered if the men he had already dealt with had been on their way down here, reinforcing wherever Blag was holding Scott.

For a wild moment, nothing happened. Then, almost in slow motion, Chekov collapsed and this time, didn't get up. Virgil exhaled sharply, putting the safety on the gun and sticking it in his waistband. Then he grabbed Chekov's arms and started pulling him into the room the man had come from. It was empty and Virgil grabbed Chekov's radio before slamming the door and bolting it.

He looked around. Seeing Chekov was confirmation they were in the right place. The last time he had seen the man, he had been hauling Scott from the crypt having widened the hole in the wall. Blag was here somewhere… as was his brother. He dropped the radio on the floor, slamming his heel into it, before walking away, satisfied.

He moved more cautiously after that, aware there could be men behind every door and that if they had heard the gun, they would be on their guard. He also started looking in every room, convinced Scott was close by.

He almost overlooked his brother. He peered into a cell but didn't see anything. It was only as he turned away that something caught his eye. The room was grey concrete but Virgil suddenly realised there was a figure sprawled against one of the walls, the grey clothing causing him to blend in.

Virgil's hands were shaking as he fumbled for the bolts and he stuck the gun into his waistband, needing both hands. Heaving open the door, Virgil stumbled in, and froze. A rush of emotion – relief, fear, anger – crashed through him and he swallowed against the wave, knowing he needed to think straight.

"Scott?" His voice was trembling, the word inaudible. He stepped forward, but his heart was in his throat and it was hard to breathe properly.

 _He had found his brother._

He closed the space between them, dropping to his knees and crawling the last few paces when he realised Scott hadn't even looked up. Virgil's gaze scanned him anxiously and his head swam when he saw the state of the man.

Scott was covered in blood, vivid bruises and cuts seeping through the tracksuit he was wearing. His eyes were shut and he was deathly pale. His lips were chapped and split and the dark circles under his eyes weren't just from bruises.

"Scotty?" Reaching forward, Virgil winced as he felt how cold Scott's skin was but he pressed his fingers against Scott's neck. He felt a weak pulse at the same time as Scott moaned, instinctively moving away from him and Virgil sat back, relief mingling with fear.

 _He was alive._

Sitting back meant he saw the bigger picture. Scott's right arm was hanging limply and Virgil had seen his fair share of injuries to know it was broken. He couldn't imagine the pain his brother must be in: having an unsupported broken bone was agonising, let alone anything else.

When he looked at Scott's other arm, fury made him move. He closed his fingers around the laser cutter and carefully aimed it at the manacle that shackled his brother to the wall. It wasn't just a physical restraint: it would chain his brother's mind in a way Virgil knew he didn't quite understand. He knew what Scott's dreams were about – he was always being held back by this chain. He bet Blag knew exactly the type of psychological nightmare he was putting Scott through.

As soon as the chain fell free, Scott moaned again. His eyes were opening.

"Hey," Virgil whispered. His hands cradled Scott's neck, helping to support his head. "Scott? Can you hear me?"

To his surprise, Scott weakly shook his head.

"Please," his brother whispered, a voice hoarse with misuse. "Not yet. Not yet, please…"

Virgil had no idea what Scott was talking about. Then it hit him.

"No!" He lowered his voice, choked with emotions he couldn't deal with right now. "No, Scott, I'm alive. I'm alive and I'm here. I'm going to get you out of here. You're going to be okay. I'm alive; we're both alive."

Scott's gaze slowly focused but he looked so bewildered, so out of it, that Virgil wanted to cry. Or shoot something. Preferably some _one_. He kept the eye contact though, shifting closer until he could repeat Scott's final action towards him, resting their foreheads together.

A feather-light touch against his arm made him look down and he saw Scott reaching for him.

"You…died."

Virgil laughed; he couldn't help it. "You're as bad as John and Gords," he said. "They're alive, Scott, they're here. We're all here."

"Good." The cold voice already had Virgil turning before the door slammed shut. Awkwardly twisting, he saw Blag standing in front of the door, a gun in his hand. Virgil gently rested Scott back against the wall but his brother chose that moment to try and latch onto his wrist. His fingers were barely gripping though and Virgil slid free, knowing what Scott was trying to do.

"Easy, big brother," he whispered, ignoring Blag. "It's our turn to look out for you."

He straightened up, one hand going behind his back and stepping to one side so Blag didn't have a clear shot at Scott. Drawing his own gun, he aimed steadily back at the man.

"It's over," he said, barely recognising his own voice. "Drop it."

Blag laughed. "Are you going to shoot me?"

"Give me one reason why not."

"Him," Blag said, jerking his head towards Scott.

"He's the reason I'd do it," Virgil said. He didn't look at his brother though, not trusting Blag if he turned his back. To his discomfort, Blag chuckled.

"You're a colder man than he is then."

"What are you talking about?"

"I gave him a gun," Blag said, shrugging. "Gave him a clear shot. Coward couldn't do it."

"He is the bravest person I know," Virgil said honestly. His heart was pounding, though. He glanced quickly at Scott and realised that, despite barely being conscious, Scott was aware of everything being said. He had recoiled, curling in on himself at Blag's words and Virgil knew the madman was telling the truth about Scott not pulling the trigger. It worried Virgil more than he wanted to admit: what mind-games had Blag been putting his brother through?

"That's not saying much."

"Just drop the gun! It's over."

"Oh no," Blag said quietly. "It's far from over."

He moved further into the room, a predatory expression on his face as he paced in front of them. Virgil shifted position, ensuring he was covering his brother at all times. He too remembered Blag vowing never letting Scott go and he didn't know if the man would shoot his brother right now rather than allowing the rescue to take place.

"I knew you were alive," Blag said, his tone conversational. "Well, maybe not _you_ , but your brothers. We saw them trying to save you when we left Kansas. I've known all along they were alive."

Virgil realised Blag wasn't talking to him, he was goading Scott, who was in no position to respond.

"I knew they would come for you. Quicker than I thought, true, but I knew they'd come. How long do you think they'll last against the boys, Scott? Longer than you?"

"Shut up!" Virgil shouted, not daring to turn his back on Blag to see the impact his words were having on Scott. He stepped forward, furious, pressing the gun into Blag's chest.

"You don't have the guts," Blag hissed. "You're just like him: weak."

"Stop."

Scott's voice was quiet, broken even. But Virgil automatically turned at hearing his brother, then realised a second too late it was a bad idea. Blag grabbed his wrist. Virgil pulled against him but Blag snatched the gun out of his hand before shoving him back, tossing the gun to the far side of the cell.

Virgil kept his balance, straightening up and again putting himself between Scott and his nightmare. But Blag also tossed his weapon to one side.

"This time when I kill you, I'm going to do it with my bare hands."

Virgil swallowed, tense, as Blag drew closer. He hoped the adrenaline he had injected himself with was still coursing through his veins. Without it, he didn't stand a chance.

With it, he wasn't sure his odds were any better.


	24. Chapter 24

John stared after Virgil, biting his lip. He wanted to go with him - wanted to find Scott himself. It was because of him they had got this far, after all.

But however good Gordon was, he couldn't hold the men off on his own and they needed to stick together. Spreading out across the tunnels, with who-knew how many men searching for them, was a good way for it all to go horribly wrong.

"Don't worry," Gordon said, elbowing him in the ribs. "He's got this."

"You're the one who didn't want him down here."

"Since when did you guys listen to me?" Gordon was checking his ammunition as he spoke and John smiled. Gordon hadn't changed his mind: he didn't want Virgil there. But that was now out of their hands and Gordon was doing what he always did – making the best of a bad situation.

They could still hear the men in the opposite tunnel but John was reassured he couldn't hear anything from behind them. Blag clearly didn't have unlimited men, despite his nightmares taunting him otherwise.

He looked around. There were three tunnels: the one Virgil had taken curved down into the ground, a dark, foreboding place. The other – where the men were sheltering – appeared to slope upwards. The final led back to the exit, the way they had just come.

They were in an open space, a convergence of all three tunnels. The men had clearly been using it – bottles were strewn in one direction and the same boxes that had littered their tunnel – either supplies for the men here, or supplies from a long time ago – had been moved and used as chairs and tables.

The lighting was dim, filtering through from the strip lights John could see flickering in the other tunnels. He shuddered, his keen imagination telling him Blag had found the perfect dungeon, a place straight out of an old book.

"Here."

Gordon handed him the small handgun and unslung a rifle from his back. He tipped a crate, using it as support as he set it up, training it on the opening of the other tunnel. John tested the weight and sighed; he had never been as good with a weapon as the rest of them. It made sense for Scott and Gordon to be good shots, but Virgil had picked it up quickly as well. His hand-eye coordination had always been strong.

John, on the other hand…

"You don't have to hit anything," Gordon said, "just stop them from going after Virg. Just, you know, try and aim?"

John mock-glared but his brother didn't notice. He was adjusting the scope, looking for movement. John didn't want to disturb him and settled on checking the ammunition.

They crouched in silence, unwilling to break from their cover. Every moment they held the men off was another moment Virgil had to find Scott. But John knew it wouldn't last; the men would make a move eventually. They were hired muscle - paid thugs whose job it was to do this sort of thing.

That moment came too soon, though. Gordon's intake of breath was the only warning John received before a bullet thudded into the crate. Instinct made John rock back before he realised their cover was effective – the wood was denser than John had believed. Gordon had already let off a round; stone splintered from the wall and a figure ducked hastily out of view.

But their adversaries were done waiting. Gordon adjusted his aim but two men sprung from the tunnel. They split up, moving fast. Gordon focused on one and John belatedly raised his gun, firing towards the second. He didn't come close to hitting, but he did make the man pause and dive behind a second crate, knocking it over to shield behind it the way they were.

It was enough encouragement for the other men to break their cover. Two fell, one clutching a bloody leg and one utterly still, when they didn't move in time to avoid Gordon. But then it went quiet, a stand-off between the two sides as they both sheltered from the other.

Gordon suddenly swore, but before John could ask, a burst of light flooded the tunnel. He squinted, then realised the door leading to the outside was open. A few of the men must have bolted when they weren't looking. Gordon rose, but John grabbed his arm and yanked him down again.

John could have kicked himself. All they – he – had focused on was getting in, then covering Virgil, not wanting the men to go further into the tunnels. He hadn't thought that about getting out again.

"If they get the plane-," Gordon began, his eyes wide. The wild panic in his expression helped clear John's mind.

"They won't. You forget – Dad's served, just like you and Scott. He can handle them. We have to stop them going after Virg. Dad can handle any his end."

"One problem," Gordon muttered, although the panic was fading from his eyes. "They're blocking our way out."

John cursed. Either way, this was going to end in bloodshed. But his hand was steady as he aimed again. These men were working with Blag. They were responsible for the explosion that could have killed Gordon, they had taken Scott and they had nearly succeeded in killing Virgil. John may have been the quietest of the five brothers but when it came to protecting his family, he rivalled Scott.

"Then let's clear them out," he said. Gordon looked at him, fierce approval shining in his eyes as he gave a curt nod.

The door slammed shut, plunging the tunnel back into darkness. Before their opponents could adapt to the change in lighting, they both stood. The men opened fire, but were then forced to duck as John and Gordon returned fire. Bullets slammed into the men's shelter and satisfaction flooded John when a large chunk splintered off and Gordon's next shot went straight through the hole they had created, causing a man to yell out.

"Reload!"

John followed Gordon's command without thinking, dropping back and catching the ammo his brother tossed at him. They worked quickly and John slammed the new rounds into his gun faster than he knew how. But the men had heard Gordon's instruction and they took advantage of the respite to start shooting back. When John peered out, he realised they were splitting up again.

"We can't let them flank us."

"Impressive, Johnny," Gordon said, grinning.

John smirked. "I spend most of my life coordinating you guys," he said, "I know when you're in trouble before you do. Let's move."

"Copy that."

Gordon flung himself out, staying on his stomach as he shot at the men approaching them. John took the other side, managing to drop a man before emptying his clip attempting to stop two more approaching.

He made to retreat when he realised one of the men was attempting to skirt around him, heading towards the tunnel leading underground.

But John couldn't let him go. Virgil was down there, attempting to save Scott. With a yell, John threw himself forward, crashing into the stunned man and sending them both toppling to the ground. The man didn't have time to react before John slammed the gun into his temple, knocking him out.

He suddenly heard Gordon grunt in pain and spun around. His brother had remained low, keeping out of eyeline. But one of the men had spotted him, used his comrades as cover and got close enough to strike out. The first kick had sent the rifle spinning out of Gordon's hand and, as John turned, the second drove into Gordon's stomach, winding him. But he didn't strike again: he levelled his weapon at Gordon instead.

John fired. The shot went wide but it made the man turn his attention to John. He tried firing again, but there was only a loud _click_ and he cursed, knowing he couldn't reload in the time it took the man to pull the trigger. As his opponent stepped towards him, smirking, John suddenly realised he was alone. Everyone else was either still and silent, or groaning in the shadows. The man had sacrificed his friends to get close to Gordon.

But Gordon wasn't the one in trouble now.

John stepped to one side and the man copied him. Slowly, the pair circled each other. John formed a vague plan of getting closer to Gordon and getting more ammunition, despite knowing it wouldn't be enough. But his opponent didn't have that problem, calmly reloading his gun even as he shadowed John's movements.

As the clip slotted into place and the man once again aimed, John froze. He was closer to Gordon now, but he didn't dare take another step. He didn't know how good the Russian was at aiming; he couldn't risk Gordon.

"No," Gordon suddenly gasped and John glanced to the side. Gordon had made it to his knees, horror in his expression as he took in the sight in front of him.

"Get them out," John ordered. There was nothing else he could say, his mind blank as he just stared at the gun aimed at him.

The man smirked, his grip shifting as his finger started to squeeze.

" _No!"_

Gordon was no longer on his knees. He crashed into John even as the gun fired, both of them hitting the ground hard.

Gordon's yell rang in John's ears as he struggled to sit up, staring at the blood on his hands. He wasn't hit though, he couldn't feel anything…

"Gordon!"

His brother's face was contorted with pain, one hand pressed against his shoulder. Blood was seeping through his fingers and his face was already pale.

"Behind you," Gordon grunted.

John spun sharply. The man was aiming again, using John's distraction to take his time. John didn't hesitate: he threw himself forward, colliding with his attacker, grappling for the gun. It went off, but the shot went wild, spinning harmlessly into thin air. John managed to get a grip and he wrenched the gun out of the man's hand, elbowing him hard as he did so before stepping away.

The man stepped towards them again but John shook his head and squeezed the trigger. The man dropped with a scream, his hand clutching his leg. John shrugged even as he hit him over the head with his own weapon, silencing him. No one needed to know he had been aiming higher up.

Then he threw the gun away.

"Gords…" Dropping to his knees, he pulled Gordon's hands away from the wound so he could examine it himself. While he might not have done as much field-work as the others and it showed in his weapon handling, he was more than capable at medical emergencies.

The bullet had gone straight through his brother's arm and John sat him up, leaning him back on the wall. A quick search of one of the unconscious men revealed a knife and John sliced the bottom of his shirt, creating long strips of linen that he bound tightly around Gordon's shoulder.

"Grandma is going to kill you," Gordon muttered, his voice tight with pain.

"What did you do that for?" John ignored Gordon's attempt to be funny. He tied the last knot and curled his hand around Gordon's neck. "You _idiot_. You could have been killed."

"You-," Gordon eyes screwed up as he attempted to shift position, his opposite hand cradling his arm as he tried to prevent it from moving. John didn't need him to explain what he was doing: it was an action he was all too familiar with.

"You did it for me," Gordon rasped. "Time to return the favour."

"You're an idiot," John told him again. Checking none of the men would be a threat to his brother, he moved across the room, dragging another crate towards them. It was littered with bullet holes and wouldn't stand another onslaught, but it made John feel better. He fetched Gordon's rifle and reloaded all the guns. This time, he handed his brother one of the handguns.

"Can your shoulder handle that?" Gordon muttered, nodded at the rifle and looking utterly perplexed when John laughed.

"Better than yours can," he said.

"Oh…yeah…." Gordon's voice was faint with pain and John knew his brother was in shock. The gun dropped from his limp fingers as he tentatively hovered his hand over the bandage. "Why didn't you tell me how much it hurt?"

"Not the kind of question I'm going to be truthful about to my kid brother, is it?"

"Not a kid."

"No." John looked at his brother and smiled. "Thank you. You saved my life."

Gordon waved his uninjured arm dismissively. "Like I said: repaying the favour."

John didn't have anything to say to that. He took off his jacket and draped it around his brother's shoulders but shivered when he sat back against the wall, his gaze locked on the tunnel where his brother had disappeared.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?" He glanced at Gordon. His eyes were shut but his body tense.

"What if Blag's down there?"

John didn't answer: he assumed that Blag _was_ there. Gordon continued.

"Can Virgil handle him?"

"He has to," John said. Virgil had made the call to follow them in and John hoped whatever his brother had taken to make him move so swiftly kept working long enough for him to find Scott and get them both out. But Virgil was on his own now – John couldn't leave Gordon here and his brother wouldn't be able to handle moving deeper into the tunnel. He debated whether he could get Gordon back to the plane but knew Gordon would refuse to go.

They had come here together. They would end it, together.

John stared into the darkness of the tunnel. He was used to monitoring everything: signals, communications, heat spots: he knew where everyone was and what they were doing at all times in a dangerous situation. Only this time, he was blind, relying on instincts rather than his beloved computers and he didn't like it.

"He has to," he repeated softly, as much to himself as Gordon. All he could do was wait and continue staring at the tunnel, praying the next people to emerge from it were his brothers.

* * *

Virgil watched as Blag came closer. Instinct was telling him to duck to one side, get behind the man so Blag couldn't force him into a corner. But he couldn't. He couldn't leave Scott undefended. He risked a glance at his brother but had no way of telling whether he was conscious or not.

Blag closed the distance between them and Virgil stumbled, dazed, when the man punched him. His tactic wasn't working. He couldn't help Scott if he didn't survive and while it went against his nature to leave his brother, drawing Blag's attention away gave Scott more of a chance.

He moved back, keeping in reach so Blag could swing for him again. This time, Virgil ducked, goading the man into stepping towards him.

"You've got no lackeys to hold me down this time," Virgil said, jabbing out himself. His words had distracted Blag just enough and Virgil felt a rush of satisfaction as his punch landed and Blag backed off a pace.

"Haven't I?"

Blag pulled a radio out of his belt, his gaze never leaving Virgil. He pressed a button.

"Chekov, come in."

There was no answer, just as Virgil knew there wouldn't be. He had taken the radio and dropped it outside Chekov's cell, worried the man would regain consciousness. Blag tried again.

"Chekov?" He suddenly noticed Virgil's smirk. When Blag glared at him, Virgil shrugged.

"Chekov can't come to the phone right now," he said in mock-seriousness. "But if that was your idea of a welcome party, thanks. Gave me the chance to repay a debt."

Blag lunged for him. Virgil held him off, but just as he was gaining the upper hand, Blag landed a blow to his midriff. Virgil struggled to catch his breath, shoving Blag away to give himself to recover from the blow.

"You may have been saved," Blag said, "but you're not strong enough to fight me. You're not strong enough to save him."

"I've always managed it up until now," Virgil spat. Blag's glare deepened and Virgil knew he was not the only one thinking of his interruption at the hospital all those years ago.

"Maybe I underestimated you," Blag said. "Maybe you should be the one I try and break."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Virgil said, straightening up, "but I'll pass. Thanks."

Blag moved forward again. Virgil waited until the last second, making Blag's movements overconfident before darting to one side, then slamming into the man from behind and sending him stumbling into the wall.

He might be weak considering his brush with death. But he had an active and healthy lifestyle and he was fighting for something other than himself. It was obvious Blag hadn't avoided the prison gym though; Virgil hadn't previously realised the man was fit and strong. He didn't know what he had expected when he had come down here, but he knew Blag matched him for physical strength right now. He was going to have to rely on planning and wits.

"Give in, _boy_ ," Blag snarled, "and I'll make it quick. You can save your brother the suffering of watching you die slowly."

"I will _never_ give in to you," Virgil said. He backed across the room, counting his steps in his head. When he reached what he hoped was the right place, he bent down quickly. He had misjudged it by a pace or two and had to lunge for the gun on the floor. Blag saw what he was doing and gave a shout, crashing into Virgil's back and driving him to the floor.

Virgil managed to flip, his hand grasping the gun, but Blag was on top of him. The man's knees pinned Virgil's arms to the ground, leaving his legs kicking helplessly as he tried to dislodge him. But Blag's weight holding him down wasn't the problem: it was the hands around his neck, squeezing, that he had bigger issues with.

Virgil choked, fighting for breath. He wasn't strong enough for this! Panic seeped into his mind, vividly remembering the last time he couldn't breathe. The corners of his vision started to darken… _he couldn't breathe_ ….

Then he remembered the gun in his hand.

He had no idea what direction it was pointing. He pulled the trigger though, half expecting to shoot himself. He saw Scott stir again out of the corner of his eye at the noise but more satisfying was Blag's howl of pain as he let go of Virgil's throat. Blood was staining his leg and Virgil wrenched his arm free, shoving the man off him.

He scrambled to his feet, coughing, keeping the gun covering Blag. Blag shuffled backwards, leaning on the wall with his hands clutched around his leg.

"It's over," Virgil repeated. He backed up, making sure he didn't lower the gun until the far wall hit his back. Still not looking away from his enemy, his free hand searched until it rested on Scott's shoulder.

"Scott?" he said gently, squeezing his hand. "Time to go."

He had a vague idea of getting Scott out of the door before locking Blag in. As long as they could contain the rest of the men, they could leave them locked up, knowing the authorities were on their way. It wasn't enough for Virgil, but his priority was Scott. His brother was vulnerable and Virgil wasn't certain he could defend them both for long.

Scott groaned and Virgil risked a glance down to see Scott fighting to remain conscious. His breathing was shallow and fast and, despite his earlier paleness, Virgil was convinced there was now an unhealthy flush to Scott's skin. He dropped to his haunches, switching hands with the gun so he could pull Scott's good arm over his shoulder.

"C'mon, big brother," he whispered, "let's get you out of here."

But just as he made to draw Scott to his feet, his gun was suddenly blasted out of his hand. Virgil hissed in pain, drawing his arm to his chest and having no choice but to lower Scott back to the floor.

Blag hadn't moved to the far side to support himself. He had gone there because that was where the other gun was.

"Move away, Virgil." Blag's voice was cold and calculating and his hand steady despite the pain he must be in. Virgil glared but knew the gun wasn't aimed at him. It was aimed, with unnerving precision, at Scott's head.

"Move away or I kill him."

"What's to stop you doing that once I move?"

"Haven't you got it by now? Shooting him is too easy. But I'll do it if you don't move."

Virgil didn't see what choice he had. Blag had shot the gun out of his hand: there was no denying his aim. He hadn't come this far just to watch Scott be killed in front of him.

"Don't…" Scott's cracked whisper made Virgil's mind up for him. He _had_ to protect Scott. He took a tentative step to one side. Blag raised an eyebrow and Virgil took another step.

"Face the wall."

"No… Virg, no."

Virgil couldn't look at his brother. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Scott trying to get to his feet, but his brother was doing little more than clutching at the wall, trying to stay upright.

Biting his lip, hoping he didn't regret it, Virgil turned to face the wall.

"Virgil!"

Scott's voice was stronger this time and Virgil turned back. But he was too late. Blag had thrown his weight forward, lurching across the room. The blow that would have likely knocked him out was just a passing glance but it was enough to make him stumble. Blag grabbed his arm, wrenching it behind his back before slamming him back against the wall.

"I've come too far," the man snarled, "you will not stop me now."

Virgil tried to kick backwards, convinced if he could land a blow on Blag's injured leg, it would be enough for the man to back away. But Blag had shifted his weight in such a way he was pinning Virgil against the wall. He couldn't move and his attempts to throw Blag off only resulted in his arm being bent higher up his back.

An involuntarily gasp escaped him as he rose on his toes, trying to stop his shoulder from being dislocated. But Blag kept him pinned and suddenly, there was a gun pressed at the top of his neck.

"There will be no mistake this time," Blag said, his voice deadly quiet. "This time, you will watch your brother die."

Virgil struggled but the adrenaline had worn off and he felt shaky and sick. Blag's anger was masking his pain – or the man was truly a maniac – and his grip was unrelenting.

"Don't…" Scott's word was a breathless gasp. Virgil shut his eyes. He knew what expression would be on Scott's face: the same terrified helplessness that had been there when Blag's men had widened the hole in the wall.

Blag let go of his arm and his weight shifted back. But Virgil still felt the gun pressed against his neck. Blag's hands were steady: he had no idea how he was supposed to get out of this.

"You've been a thorn in my side too long, Virgil Tracy." Blag said. Virgil murmured a silent apology to his brothers and flinched when the sharp _crack_ of gunfire burst through the cell.

Then he opened his eyes.

He was still alive.

 _Again._

There was no way Blag could have missed so…how?

Slowly, hardly daring to move just in case, Virgil turned around. Just in time to see Blag stumble back, his face a picture of bewilderment. A red stain was spreading across his chest and, as Virgil watched, the man collapsed, landing in a heap.

Virgil looked the other way. Scott was standing – and Virgil knew he wasn't the only one who didn't know how his brother was managing it. There was a gun in his hand and an expression of pure fury on his face. As Virgil watched – stunned – Scott staggered forward a step until he was standing over Blag. The man was still alive, but only just.

"She'll know I stayed true to my promise," Scott whispered. Virgil had no idea what he was talking about.

"That I _always_ stay true to my word." Scott fired again and Virgil looked away. Point blank range meant there were no miracles this time.

It was over.

"Scott-," Virgil stepped towards his brother, reaching out and prising the gun from his hand, flipping the safety on and sticking it in his waistband. There was a dent in it from where Blag had shot it out of his hand and Virgil was amazed it had fired once, let alone twice.

But Scott had come to the same conclusion as he had: it was over. He dropped almost faster than Virgil could move and he found himself on his knees, supporting Scott's dead weight. His brother's eyes were closed and Virgil was doubtful he would wake up again while they were still in this place. That final movement had taken any of the limited strength he had left.

"Come on," Virgil murmured. "Let's go home."

His entire body was shaking and he ached from the fights with Blag and Chekov. His hand ghosted over his watch, but he didn't press anything. If the others were still in a fight, Virgil didn't want to distract them. He'd wait until they were closer.

He didn't know how to move Scott though. He couldn't lift him. Instead, Virgil hooked his hands under his brother's shoulders and started pulling, desperately hoping that Scott remained unconscious and couldn't feel how this was jolting his arm. But until they were back on the plane with the doors sealed behind them, there wasn't a choice.

What unnerved him was that he _could_ move Scott. The adrenaline had worn off and as his brothers liked to remind him, he had died. Virgil wondered if Scott had eaten anything the entire time he had been here. Then he forced himself to stop thinking and just put one foot in front of the other.

Everything else they would deal with once they were out of there.

* * *

John had no idea how long they remained crouched behind the table. Gordon was shivering but his glare still burnt when John suggested going back to the plane and their father. His brother's adrenaline was dropping, lowering his body temperature as pain and shock took hold. Gordon murmured something about needing to help John, but it was obvious he would be in the way in a fight now.

But no one came. They had obviously cleared the men that had tried to stop them from entering but no one came from behind them either. John figured there were more men down there – Blag wouldn't have done this entire thing with just a handful of men. John had seen the type of men Blag had been trying to contact when he ransomed Scott – he would try and protect himself from the criminals he was luring in. John was convinced Virgil had handled them though – if something had happened to his brother, the men would have been sent up here to deal with the two remaining Tracys.

"Johnny?"

John looked at Gordon. His brother's eyes were half-closed but he was more alert than he looked.

"Can you hear something?"

John listened. He realised Gordon was right; slow, hesitant steps, followed by a strange dragging sound was coming from the tunnel behind them. John stood and locked the rifle into his shoulder.

"Stay there," he ordered, advancing on the opening. He squinted into the darkness, but with the light behind him, he couldn't see anything. The sound stopped and he realised too late that what blinded him meant whoever was down there would clearly see him standing there.

"John?"

John gave a half-gasp, half-laugh and lowered the rifle.

"Virgil?"

"John?"

He glanced over as Gordon called him and caught the small flashlight his brother threw him. Shining it down the tunnel, he saw it was, indeed, Virgil, staggering up the tunnel, backwards, pulling something with him.

Or rather…someone.

"Scott," John breathed. He dropped the rifle and ran into the tunnel. Virgil stopped, waiting for him. John put a hand on Virgil's shoulder as soon as he reached him.

"Are you okay?"

His brother was standing, for what that was worth. Virgil nodded and in the dim light, looked utterly spent.

"Blag's dead," he said, his voice hollow. Gordon wasn't the only one dealing with shock right now. John's eyes widened.

"Did you-,"

"No," Virgil said. "Scott did."

They both looked at the prone form of their older brother. John squeezed Virgil's shoulder.

"Get out of here," he said softly. "I've got him."

Bending down, he swore when the light revealed the state of Scott. He had to roll his brother to avoid his broken arm, but John eventually managed to get his brother over his shoulder. He winced: he was being careful of his brother's injuries, but it was too easy to hold him.

" _Gordon!"_ Virgil's cry of alarm made John shake his head. They were all in a state.

By the time he reached the room, Virgil had Gordon's good arm pulled over his shoulder and his free arm wrapped around Gordon's waist, holding him up.

"You thought I was the one who would get killed," Virgil grumbled, forcing Gordon to take a step towards the exit.

John raised his eyebrows. "You haven't seen your throat," he said. There were vivid marks around Virgil's neck and John didn't need his usual over-active imagination to know what had caused them. He saw Gordon twist to look at the marks himself and smirked at the glare Virgil shot him.

It didn't matter though. Compared to Scott, they were all fine. They were all breathing and moving (if awkwardly), and that was enough for John.

"Let's go home," he said, shifting Scott and wincing, hoping he hadn't really felt him stir. He wanted to be able to get some morphine into his brother before Scott woke up.

They made an odd sight, staggering towards the exit. John screwed up his eyes as he drew closer, squinting as the light reflected off the snow. Virgil shoved the door open a little wider so he could get through by Gordon's side and they disappeared from sight.

John followed, breathing deeply once he was clear off the complex. It was colder out here than it had been below, but the air was fresh and he relished the icy burn in his lungs.

This time, there was no doubt he felt Scott stir as the fresh air hit them both. If he was enjoying breathing the free air after only a few hours below ground, then he had no idea what it would mean to Scott.

"John!"

Looking up, he saw Virgil and Gordon had reached the plane. The steps were unfolded this time and he watched, satisfied, as his two younger brothers climbed into the safety of the jet. His father was hurrying through the snow towards him and John stumbled forward.

His dad reached him, his anxious gaze roaming over John for a moment before he fleetingly touched Scott on the back of his head, clearly not knowing what else he could do.

"Come on," the man said softly, "let's get him somewhere warm."

His father's voice gave John the strength to close the distance between the plane and the bunker. He knew his dad wanted to take Scott from him, but it would take longer than for John to make those few extra steps.

Virgil was waiting for him at the top the stairs, ready to help take Scott. John managed to smile as both his brother and father worked to relieve him of his load.

This time, it wasn't just Scott's physical weight that lifted from John when he reached the warmth of the interior of the plane.


	25. Chapter 25

_Thank you so much for those who are still with me on this! I hope you continue to enjoy it._

* * *

Jeff had intended to be back at his son's side in less than a minute. Virgil was still weak, still sick, but had persuaded his father to fly to the middle of nowhere on a dangerous rescue mission. Jeff didn't – _couldn't_ – regret it, though. Not if it meant finding Scott: not if it meant freeing them from this nightmare.

He planned to make sure Virgil was stable before following the others. He was painfully aware they had no idea how many men Blag had. It was him, and two of his sons, against a potential army. Despite sending them against nature time and time again, he would never have given a mission this perilous his blessing if it had been any other situation.

But as he turned from the radio, it crackled. Jeff snatched it up.

"Llina?"

" _Mr Tracy."_ Her thick Russian accent was hard to decipher; interference was making the radio splutter.

"Hang on."

He switched channels, changing to a more advanced soundwave Brains had developed. It was the same communicator used in the Thunderbirds and no amount of snow would dampen the signal.

"Go ahead."

Her accent got stronger the faster she spoke but Jeff got the idea. The local police were fooled by John's breadcrumbs and were starting to investigate Llina's allegations. They wouldn't arrive in time to help the boys, though. For all Jeff knew, John and Gordon were already in trouble. But they _would_ arrive and the last Llina had heard, the army was being mentioned.

Despite what Gordon had said, there was no plan. They didn't know what they were up against. Jeff doubted his sons had even known their destination when they had boarded the plane. He had acted on instinct – they were already airborne and he wanted Scott back as much as his brothers. But they couldn't do this alone. He didn't need the army though; they needed someone on their side with no questions asked.

"Good," Jeff said, distracted, mind racing. "They need to close down this operation for good."

When Llina fell silent, Jeff realised how quiet the plane was. He thought he would at least hear Virgil moving; his son would be raiding the supplies if nothing else.

"Call me back if you have any more news," Jeff said. "I have to go."

Putting the radio down, he paused.

He made another call, this time to the Global Defence Force. He kept it short, and knew they would demand answers at a later stage. He hated leaving the boys any longer than necessary but as he signed off, he knew assistance was on its way.

He replaced the radio and turned. The door had shut silently behind him without him noticing. But as he attempted to open it, he frowned. Tugging at the handle, Jeff tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped. But he hadn't been one of the first men on the moon, a successful businessman and a father of five boys by ignoring his instincts.

One last attempt confirmed his suspicions: it was locked. He moved back to the controls and pressed a series of buttons in a certain order. Brains had put thought into the plane, as with all of his designs. An intruder could be locked in the cockpit – they would never figure out the override. But a Tracy couldn't.

Being locked in didn't phase him. The reason _why_ the door was locked, however, terrified him.

The door _swished_ open and he stumbled into the main part of the plane.

"Virgil!"

Silence met his cry.

Just as he knew it would.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking. The first aid kit was open, discarded on one of the seats and Jeff automatically picked it up, intending to close it. An empty wrapper caught his attention and he shut his eyes in resignation.

"Clever boy."

He should have known. Virgil wouldn't give in that easily, not when it was Scott on the line. He had played his father, and Jeff had fallen for it. He normally prided himself on knowing his boys but over the last few days, he realised how much they had successfully hidden from him.

He blamed it on exhaustion and stress but he feared something else. He was getting old.

He moved to the back of the plane. Virgil had at least shut the door behind him. Pulling down on the lever, Jeff squinted against the bright snow, peering out. All he could see of his sons were their footprints, leading to a dark door. Jeff's eyes narrowed.

 _His boys were in there._

There was only one place for him to go.

He couldn't go empty-handed though. Tossing the first aid kit back onto the chair, he grabbed a pistol, discarded it and picked up a rifle. It had been years since he last held a gun but hours of drills in front of a weapon's master were not lessons his hands would forget, and he made quick work of sliding new cartridges into the gun and storing the rest of the ammunition where he could easily reach it. There was a reason he understood what Scott and Gordon were capable of: he had been through it himself long before technology had digitalised weapons and equipment.

He did the same for the pistol before slipping it into his waistband. He had been at Blag's mercy ever since he had first seen the footage of Scott unconscious in the trunk of a car years ago. He refused to let the madman dictate their lives any longer.

He slipped the strap of the rifle over his head, adjusting it until it sat right. Then he moved back to the door. He didn't drop the way the boys had, but lowered himself down, tensing his legs to take the impact. He moved instinctively, his hands drawing the gun around even while he checked the immediate area for hostiles.

It was clear and he set off through the snow, head down, legs soaked, as he ploughed through. But when he was only halfway, a low grating sound reached his ears and he looked up, only to curse when he realised the door was opening. Hope momentarily flared – _the boys were safe_ – but reality hit home when a figure squeezed through the gap and paused to let his eyes adjust to the bright glare.

Jeff was ashamed to admit he froze. It had been years since he had last been in a physical fight, not just staring an opponent down in a board meeting. The man was young, fit, and used to fighting.

He also hadn't noticed Jeff.

He wrenched the rifle strap, drawing it back over his head. As much as he wanted to fire it, he didn't want the sound to travel. He needed to draw men out from the bunker in order to give his sons a chance and a gunfight might make them flee deeper underground.

That didn't stop the rifle being an effective weapon though. He moved as fast as he could, lifting it like a club. The man heard him and turned, eyes widening as he gabbled something Jeff didn't understand. He grabbed at the gun, preventing it from making contact.

The pair grappled back and forth and Jeff had the horrible feeling he was losing as his feet began to slide on the treacherous ground.

The man had left the door open, though. Hearing gunfire from within, Jeff felt a surge of strength flood his body. He lunged forward and the man lost his footing, falling heavily. Jeff made short work of knocking him out and dragging his prone form away from the door.

He didn't have time to think of a plan. Caution wouldn't help him – or his sons – any longer. He had no cover, short of going back to the plane; getting closer to the building was the only thing that might offer him an advantage. A rough voice called out and before Jeff could react, another four men piled out the door, slamming it behind them.

He aimed and squeezed the trigger, stumbling from the recoil and trying to keep his balance. The first man fell with a shout, but the other three leapt over him, brandishing their own weapons as they advanced.

Jeff lost track of what was happening. But he realised he hadn't forgotten his own training and, despite having been there for some time, the men were no more accustomed to fighting in the snow than he was. He kept moving, forcing their shots to go wild, using their numbers against them, always making sure one was covering him from the others. One shot grazed his shoulder, but it only tore the fabric, not even breaking the skin. For once, luck was on his side.

Eventually, he was gasping for breath, sweat beading his face. He always rolled his eyes when his sons tried to include him on their training sessions and he was regretting it now. He had spent far too much time sitting behind a desk over the last few years!

But he suddenly realised there was only one left.

The final man was watching him guardedly, not making the same mistake as his companions and rushing in. He had circled them cautiously, seeming to realise Jeff's tactics and not wasting his strength or ammunition when he had no clear shot. Jeff swung the rifle around, covering every step the man took.

"He kill them," he said in broken English.

Jeff stared. "What?"

"He kill them himself," the man explained. "You last. You watch."

Jeff understood. Blag was always one for theatricals and it seemed the sort of thing he would do; lure Jeff in and use his sons against him. He didn't know if Blag knew it was the Tracys landing on his doorstep, or had just instructed his men on what to do if anyone matching their description turned up. He suddenly realised why Gordon had looked so reluctant about his father accompanying them – he had guessed what Blag might do before Jeff had.

"You're wrong," Jeff said. "He underestimated us then and he's done it again now."

The man sneered, then yelled when Jeff shot him in the leg before he could aim his own gun. If that was what Blag's plan, then Jeff had no qualms about taking his men out of action.

He secured the man with spare seatbelt straps from the plane, leaving him trussed up with his companions – a couple groaning, a couple unconscious. He dragged them away from the door, grunting with the effort, and left them to one side. The GDF could deal with them when they got here. The cold wasn't intense enough to kill them, although Jeff hoped for a few lost toes.

He turned towards the door, then froze. He looked back at the plane, then at the bunker and back again. His heart was telling him to rush in and reach his children.

But his head was telling him not to be rash. There was no telling how many men were down there. It would be easy for a few men to block the door and his sons wouldn't be able to get out again. Someone needed to keep an exit route clear.

He also vividly recalled the arguments when Mobile Control was first established. Scott had protested vehemently at being asked to stay in one place and direct his brothers into danger. But Jeff had made him see the need to have a centre point, a place to make contact and receive orders, otherwise they were running around with no clear picture.

Llina had said progress was being made with the authorities. The GDF were on their way. Someone had to liaise with them, ensure the boys weren't caught in the crossfire if they arrived before his sons came out.

No father wanted to admit their children were deadly but Jeff understood what his sons were capable of – probably better than they themselves did. He was the one out of practice and he already ached from his fight with the men.

Blag wanted to get to him – he always had done. All it would take was a well-aimed gun and Jeff knew he would surrender faster than he could think. And if he gave up, he wasn't certain the boys would carry on fighting. It was safer for them all if he stayed out of the way.

He had thought he had been making difficult decisions since starting his own business. But nothing compared to deliberately turning his back and walking to the plane.

Climbing in, he took up position in the open doorway, the scope of the rifle trained on the bunker door. After a moment, he dragged the radio down next to him. Regardless of how long he had to sit here and how cold it got, he wouldn't move. Nothing was getting in or out of that bunker without his say-so.

Time had dragged recently. Waiting to hear if the boys had survived the explosion. Waiting for Virgil to wake up in the hospital.

But now, knowing four of his five sons were just beyond his reach, every second lasted a lifetime.

He had no idea how long he remained there, crouched and poised, his concentration unwavering. He was just starting to truly feel the cold when he heard the door opening again. The gun whipped into position as he stared through the scope, ready to pull the trigger on whoever emerged.

Four people emerged.

And Jeff was running.

He didn't remember dropping the gun, or pausing to lower the steps. He recalled cursing the snow hindering him as he tried to run. But finally, _finally_ , he reached his children.

Virgil and Gordon were first. His breath caught in a jagged gasp when he realised Gordon was badly bleeding and there were vivid marks around Virgil's throat.

But he swallowed his panic. They didn't need that right now; they needed their commander who always talked them through difficult situations.

He put a hand on Virgil's shoulder, not wanting to touch Gordon in case he hurt his son. He couldn't initially speak. Sheer relief at seeing them alive – wounded but alive – prevented him from saying anything.

"He's been shot," Virgil said. His voice was hoarse but flat. There was a hollow look in his eyes and Jeff knew shock was catching up. Virgil shouldn't even be out of bed.

"I'm fine," Gordon protested. A shadow of a smile touched Jeff's lips. Only Gordon would get shot and claim he was fine. There was a familiar set to his lips, a thin grimace they had all come to recognise over the years. Out of all of them, Gordon knew how to handle pain.

"Get in," Jeff said softly. "Put pressure on it."

His hand gently cradled the back of Gordon's head even as he squeezed Virgil's shoulder. He made eye-contact with his middle son.

"Get him to the plane."

Giving Virgil responsibility for his younger brother was the only thing that was going to keep him moving right now. It felt like a cheap trick to play, but until they were airborne, Jeff knew they couldn't let their guard down.

He took a step away, then turned back. Virgil twisted at the same time, knowing what his father wanted.

"Dead," he said.

Jeff shut his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again before nodding at his sons.

"Get to the plane," he repeated.

His heart was thudding painfully hard as he turned towards John. His son's head was down as he trudged through the snow. He was struggling, but Jeff knew he would collapse before he let Scott fall.

"John!"

Jeff hurried, almost slipping in the snow. John looked up and his father was once again facing a haunted expression. As far as he could see, John didn't appear to be physically hurt but he looked more worn than Jeff had ever seen him.

But then his gaze slid past his son. A sharp intake of breath through parted lips stung the back of his throat as the cold air hit his lungs. It was like icy shards piercing him and he couldn't breathe.

It had nothing to do with the air temperature.

He reached out, hoping John didn't notice how badly he was shaking. He knew Scott was unconscious – he wouldn't be that still otherwise – and even looking at his back, Jeff could see spots of blood staining the thin grey tracksuit he was dressed in. He was suddenly terrified to see the full extent of Scott's injuries.

This was his baby, his little boy, the one who had cemented his parents dream of having a family. Jeff had sworn the first time he had ever held Scott that he would always protect him, always look after him. He could still vividly recall the way Scott's eyes had opened for just a few seconds, blinking at his father, accepting that promise, before drifting back to sleep, content.

He would do anything for Scott to open his eyes now. Even if it was to stare at his father in betrayal for breaking that promise – again. Anything to know they hadn't been too late…

"Come on," he said heavily, resting his hand against the back of Scott's head while looking John in the eye. "Let's get him somewhere warm."

He longed to take John's burden from him, but it would take longer to pass Scott over, not to mention risking hurting him further. Instead, he shadowed John, his hand ghosting over his son's elbow, ready to catch him if he should fall.

They reached the plane. Virgil was waiting at the top of the steps. Between the two of them, they managed to take Scott from John, awkwardly navigating their way into the plane. One of the chairs had already been tipped right back in order to make a bed, with a pile of blankets next to it.

They put Scott down. Virgil swallowed thickly.

"He was conscious," he muttered, his voice too soft for the others to hear. "He was lucid. Kinda."

Jeff nodded, unable to look away from Scott. His arm was clearly broken but it was the blood and bruises that drew his attention. Some were fresher than others. He knew what had made them: regular beatings. Blag hadn't just taken his son – he had repeatedly tortured him.

He was breathing deeply, his hands clenched into fists even as a roaring sound drowned out everything else. He had never known fury like it, not even when Blag had first taken his son years ago. This had been methodically planned – Blag had calculated every blow he had delivered Scott, mentally and physically.

"Dad?" Virgil's voice was muted through the blood pounding in his ears. " _Dad!"_

It was the hand on his arm that brought him back to himself. Jeff shrugged his son off and moved towards the door. He saw John look up from where he was standing over Gordon, uncertain of what his father was about to do.

Then Jeff slammed the door and locked it. He ignored his trembling hand as he turned back to face his children.

He didn't know where to start.

He realised Virgil had the first aid kit next to him and was constructing a splint for Scott's arm. His shoulders were hunched and his head bowed. Jeff knew that posture too well, and knew that, for now, the best thing for Virgil was looking after his brother. Jeff didn't need to ask to know what had happened: Virgil had seen exactly where Scott was being held prisoner, seen the conditions he was being kept in, and faced Blag. Focusing on his brother was the only thing that would keep him going for now.

He turned towards the other two. Gordon was hunched over, his face pale as he cradled his arm. John had a bandage in his hand but Gordon was refusing to straighten up. It told Jeff how much pain Gordon was in – and how hard John was fighting to hold it together. He could normally get any of his brothers, even Scott, to listen.

He crossed over and gently pulled the bandage out of John's hand. He guided his son into a seat, pulling a blanket over.

"No, I-,"

"Shh," Jeff soothed, shaking the blanket it out and draping it over his son. "You've done enough, Johnny. Sleep now. Rest."

He realised John must have spent every waking moment – and all the ones where he should have been resting but wasn't – searching for Scott. It was because of him that they had arrived in time. Jeff curled his fingers around the back of John's neck.

"You did it," he whispered, "you beat him."

For a rational man, John had a stubborn streak that was completely illogical. He had never forgiven himself for not finding Scott all those years ago, despite being a young child himself. At his father's words, however, he suddenly sagged, as if the shadow that had been hanging over him all these years was finally lifting.

Jeff stayed a moment longer, John's eyes shutting and his breathing evening out as he fell asleep. But as Jeff straightened up, he knew John was the easiest to sort out.

Gordon was still hunched but he had twisted so he could watch Virgil. He didn't notice his father crouch next to him. Jeff made sure he had the bandages in reach before gently prising Gordon's good hand away from his bad arm. His son flinched but his father didn't let go as he forced Gordon to sit up properly, allowing him to examine the wound.

"It went through," Gordon said, his teeth gritted. Jeff nodded but inwardly sighed in relief. Pulling a bullet from one son's shoulder was more than enough for him.

His hands moved deftly, applying pressure as he wrapped up Gordon's shoulder. It was bleeding heavily, but eventually Jeff had it under control and the wound bandaged. As he tucked the ends in, he realised Gordon's eyes had glassed over even though his brow was pinched with pain.

He reached over and Virgil anticipated what he wanted, pressing a phial of morphine and a needle into his hand without looking away from Scott. Gordon didn't notice until Jeff had prepped the needle.

"I'm fine-,"

"You're not," Jeff said. Placing his palm against Gordon's cheek, he forced his son to look at him. "You can let go now."

Gordon had always been the Tracy most likely to express his emotions. Alan could throw a tantrum that would be heard halfway down the street if they had still lived in a populated area. But Gordon's moods – good or bad – could infect the entire household. He had controlled himself for too long now and even as Jeff spoke, he felt an involuntary tremble run through his boy.

As Gordon sucked in a shuddering breath, Jeff inserted the needle into the crook of his arm. A few moments later and his son sagged back against the seat. Jeff knew Gordon was still holding back, but the pain relief started to work and he relaxed.

Jeff took a step towards Virgil but was distracted when Scott suddenly moaned. His eyes started flickering but before Jeff felt any relief, Virgil swore. Forcing his attention back to his middle son, he realised Virgil was holding Scott's wrist, monitoring his pulse.

"His heart's racing," Virgil muttered. Vaguely aware of Gordon sitting up behind him, Jeff stepped closer.

"Easy, Scott," he murmured. "It's over. You're safe."

But as he approached his son, he knew it wasn't working. Even with Virgil holding his wrist, Scott's hand had clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his palm. He was fighting with everything he had to wake up.

"Rest, Scotty," Jeff whispered, brushing his hand over Scott's hair, trying to comfort him. "Sleep."

But Scott didn't seem to hear him. His entire body tensed as he fought to wake up.

Gordon suddenly gasped and when Jeff looked over, his son was paler than before.

"Sleep deprivation," Gordon muttered, a half-frightened, half-furious expression crossing his face.

Jeff swore. "Of course."

"I don't get it," Virgil said. Jeff closed his eyes, trying to find the words but Gordon got there first. His voice was flat.

"I've heard prisoner of war stories," he said. "They're not allowed to sleep. If they do, they're woken and made to suffer the consequences of falling asleep."

"He hasn't slept?!"

"You said yourself Blag only gave you a few hours each night," Jeff said softly. He felt sick, watching Scott struggling to wake up because he knew what would happen if someone else woke him.

"But…" Emotion clouded Virgil's voice. "None at all?"

Jeff shook his head, knowing by Scott's behaviour that Gordon was right.

"Dad, he can't-," Virgil trailed off, still monitoring Scott's pulse. Jeff knew what he wasn't saying: Scott couldn't take this strain any longer.

Snapping into action, he grabbed the medical kit and started rummaging through. While most people would just stock a few bandages, Brains had prepared for everything. Jeff eventually found what he was looking for and pulled out a sedative. It was only mild, but with any luck, it would calm Scott.

He prepared it, then glanced at Gordon. His son nodded, agreeing with his father's course of action. Jeff slid the needle into Scott's arm, murmuring apologies as he did so. Scott flinched – even semi-conscious, he recognised the prick of a needle – but Jeff forced himself to move quickly.

After a few moments, Virgil sighed. "It's settling," he said, still gripping Scott's wrist.

Scott's head suddenly lolled to one side and his breathing became softer. Jeff still suspected broken ribs but it was better than before.

"Sleep," he whispered, brushing Scott's hair from his face and tenderly stroking it back. Virgil looked away to give them some privacy.

"Just sleep now."

But then he stepped away from Scott. They didn't have the supplies to do anything more than they had done. As much as he wished to stay by his eldest son's side and make sure nothing else happened, he still had another son that needed his attention. Virgil was conscious – unlike Scott. Right now, Virgil needed him more.

That didn't mean his son was prepared to accept that, however.

Jeff stepped closer, one finger brushing the marks on Virgil's neck. Virgil flinched away, not looking at him.

"Virg-,"

"I'm fine." Unlike Gordon, it wasn't just stubbornness and a reluctance to admit to hurting that lined Virgil's tone. He was frustrated and angry.

"Virgil-," Jeff took his son's arm, intending to draw him away. He wasn't expecting Virgil to elbow him. Not hard, but enough to make him back away.

"Shouldn't we have taken off by now?" he snapped.

Jeff knew there was no getting through to him like this. He took a step back, his gaze flickering to Scott. Then he checked on John and Gordon – the former was asleep, the latter staring into space, his mind resting even though his body was awake.

But Virgil was right – they couldn't stay here. No one else had emerged from the bunker and Jeff assumed his boys had handled whoever was down there. The plane was impenetrable now the door was locked. But Jeff didn't want to be there when the Russians arrived. He had no idea how to explain what had happened. It would be better if they were far away and the GDF dealt with the fallout. Everything else they would handle later.

Virgil didn't look at him and Jeff slipped into the cockpit. He took an empty first aid box with him though, using it to prop the door open. He wanted to hear immediately if any of his boys needed him.

He was glad he had been flying for years and had used this jet multiple times. He paid no attention to what he was doing, surprising himself when he realised they had taken off. Shaking himself, he knew he was as exhausted as his sons. But he had to hold it together; _they_ had found Scott - the least _he_ could do was get them home. He remembered Gordon's words back at the hospital about him being fit to fly, but it wasn't like they had any option.

After making some calls and confirming a flight path, Jeff levelled off and put the plane on autopilot. They were safe – it was time to make Virgil face up to whatever had happened in that bunker.

Gordon's eyes were closed but his father knew he wasn't asleep. Virgil hadn't moved; he was still holding Scott's wrist, although Jeff doubted he was paying enough attention to be monitoring his brother's pulse.

Jeff took his arm. This time, his grip was firm enough that Virgil couldn't shrug him off.

"Come on," Jeff said, his tone indicating he wasn't accepting any arguments. Virgil tensed.

"Don't wake up your brothers." It was a low blow but it worked. Virgil stayed quiet. Jeff pulled him into the cockpit, guiding his son into a seat. This time, he shut the door but ensured communications were open. Then he crouched in front of Virgil, his gaze lingering on the vivid marks on his son's throat.

"What happened, Virg?" His tone was soft and gentle. He would crouch as long as it took for his son to open up. Something was haunting Virgil – something more than everything that had just happened.

He didn't think his boy would answer. But raising five sons had instilled a patience in him that his mother was still astonished by. He simple waited.

…and waited…

"He pulled away," Virgil whispered. His hands were clenched between his legs, his gaze locked on them. He could have been ten years old again. Jeff wanted to pull him close but held still. He didn't speak.

"When I got there, he recognised me. He thought I was dead. He thought-,"

"We knew that would be the case," Jeff said softly. Virgil hadn't known the others had survived the explosion: neither would Scott. He wouldn't have known Virgil had been rescued either.

"No." Virgil shook his head and looked up. His eyes were swimming with tears. "He thought I was dead and had come for him. He-,"

Virgil's voice broke and he looked away. Jeff didn't move, even when Virgil angrily dashed the tears away.

"The only thing he asked was not yet. He…He thought he had died and didn't care, only it was the wrong time."

"He wanted to take Blag down first," Jeff said. He knew Scott. If he had honestly thought three of his brothers had been killed at Blag's hand, he would not have stopped until he had avenged them. While he hated what it had put his son through, he wondered if that burning desire for revenge was the only thing that had kept him alive.

Virgil nodded. "Why had he given up?" he suddenly yelled, driving his fist into the arm of the chair. "Why wasn't he fighting?"

"Virg-,"

"He should have been fighting!" His voice suddenly dropped and he ran a hand across his face. "I should have been fighting…"

Jeff smiled sadly. He had known ever since Virgil had pushed him away what was going through his son's mind.

"This isn't your fault."

"If he didn't think I was dead-,"

"Virgil, look at me." He waited until his son had complied. "This is _not_ your fault. There was nothing you could have done."

"I told him I was scared."

"He would have already known. You know you can't lie to him."

"I should have-,"

"Virgil." Jeff repeated the same gesture he had used on John, cupping the back of Virgil's neck. "He knew how you felt. And you knew how he would react."

"He ended it," Virgil said. His voice was stronger again. "It wasn't me – I nearly got myself killed _again_."

Jeff hoped his wince wasn't too obvious. Virgil didn't comment on it if he noticed.

"He saved my life. He killed Blag."

Jeff smiled. For the first time since this begun, he felt relief. He was glad Blag was dead – he couldn't pretend otherwise. But knowing Scott had been the one to take him down meant he suddenly felt they could get through this.

"Now you can return the favour," Jeff said. "Come on. We should get back to them."

He stood up and offered Virgil his hand. To his relief, Virgil took it and allowed his father to help him up. Jeff wrapped an arm around Virgil's shoulders once they had passed through the doors.

"Oh, and you're definitely grounded for locking me in."

Virgil laughed weakly, briefly leaning on his father.

"Better me than you," he murmured. Jeff knew Virgil had shared Gordon's fears of what would happen if Blag got hold of their dad. But Jeff shook his head.

"Not for Scott," he said. Virgil didn't respond and Jeff knew there was nothing more to say. If anyone was going to pull Scott through this, it wouldn't be his father.

He just hoped it was enough.


	26. Chapter 26

_Thank you so much for those who are still following this. I really appreciate all the support_

* * *

A few hours passed, but Virgil didn't notice as he stared at his brother. Scott needed help – more help than they could give right now. His father was bustling around the makeshift bed, a bottle of antiseptic in one hand and clean bandages in the other.

He should do something – anything - to help. But all he did was stare: his mind too fuzzy to contemplate anything more. His body was trembling, a forceful reminder that the drugs he had taken had worn off. He wanted to reach for more – wanted to _help_ , damnit – but his father blocked him whenever he so much as looked, shaking his head without saying anything.

Virgil suddenly stumbled, instinctively grabbing onto the edge of bed. He looked up, hoping no one had noticed, but his dad was also holding on. The plane lurched again and Virgil realised this wasn't him.

"Strap in," his father ordered. The man moved easily across the jet, slipping back into the cockpit to take manual control. The plane steadied as his father guided it through the turbulence but Virgil obeyed and sat down. It took him a moment to remember to fasten his belt.

It took another moment before he snagged a spare bandage and started unravelling it, his fingers twitching with the need to do something.

He unravelled it. Then, without thinking, started winding it up again Then undid it…

"Virgil?"

Virgil blinked. His eyes were heavy, his body warm and comfortable. He looked around blearily. He was still strapped in but the chair was tilted back and there was a blanket draped over him, exactly as there had been for John. But John's chair was empty – as was the bed where Scott had been.

He lurched up, fingers scrabbling with the buckle.

"Easy," a voice soothed, and a hand rested on his shoulder. Virgil finally focused: John was standing over him, a soft smile on his face.

"Where is he?" Virgil begged, straining against the strap, not quite managing to undo it. His chest felt tight; that was what he had asked his father, days ago, only to learn Scott was beyond their reach.

It was over though. Blag was dead. Scott had pulled the trigger… Virgil was certain it had happened…

"We're home, Virg."

John's words cut through Virgil's fog-filled mind and he collapsed back against the seat, his eyes wide.

"Home?" His own voice was barely more than a whisper. The lump moved to his throat and he blinked rapidly. There had been _so_ many times over the last few weeks when he truly believed he would never see his home again. Or, if he did, it would be little more than a shattered memory if they returned without Scott.

"Yeah," John said, "home."

Virgil shivered as John drew the blanket away and tossed it to one side before releasing Virgil's belt.

"C'mon, kid," he said, offering his hand. "Let's get out of here."

Virgil took his brother's hand and John pulled him up. For a second, his legs refused to support him and he clutched John's shoulder, attempting to remain upright. Then he steadied himself, took a deep breath and let go. This was something he had to do by himself.

He was glad it was John who had woken him. Virgil wasn't certain anyone else would understand his need to walk from the plane unaided, thinking he was just being stubborn. But although his brother shadowed him, close enough to stop him from falling if he stumbled, he let Virgil exit on his own.

They were in the hangar, but the exit was still open. The hangar was separate from the 'birds: secrecy wasn't needed here. Virgil's gaze was drawn outside, to the bright sunlight and fresh air. He took a step towards it without thinking.

"This way." John took his elbow and guided him towards the elevator. They went up to the house in silence but John opened the door and let Virgil enter first.

The lounge was flooded with the afternoon sun. The warmth hit him before he had taken a step. Familiar smells and sounds – his grandmother's cooking, the birds outside – washed over him and Virgil weaved.

 _He was home._

He closed his eyes, grounding himself. They were _all_ home.

"Virgil!" His grandmother's voice made him open his eyes again. He looked up to see her hurrying towards him. Tears were in her eyes as she cupped his face, her gaze searching him anxiously. Virgil forced a tired smile.

"I'm okay, Grandma," he murmured. She didn't move, didn't look away, and Virgil knew she could see straight through him, just as she always had. She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him. He sank into the embrace, taking strength from the little old lady.

She eventually pulled back, wiping her eyes. Virgil felt lighter and his smile was genuine.

"I'm okay," he repeated. This time, he thought he might – just might - even mean it. She cupped his cheek once more before looking over his shoulder. Virgil knew her well enough to know the scolding look she was sending John was fake – the relief was too obvious.

"You, young man," she said sternly, "are in big trouble for just disappearing like that. And taking your brother with you!"

"Yes, ma'am," John said sheepishly. Virgil chuckled when his grandmother finally let go of him and moved forward, repeating her actions and pulling his brother into a hug as well.

He turned to the window. He had believed that crypt would be his grave and he would never again enjoy the warmth of the sun. He ignored everything else, focusing on the slither of ocean he could see. Sunlight sparkled off the waves and Virgil concentrated on the view, and that alone.

"Virgil?"

He blinked, turning at John's voice. His grandmother was nowhere to be seen.

"Where-?"

"The kitchen," John said. He smiled. "You're not with it, are you, buddy?"

Virgil shrugged. He took another look out of the window before turning his back on it. Moving across the lounge, he was aware of John following him but didn't care. He had spent too long up here. He had to get to the infirmary – he had to get to Scott.

When they passed the bottom of the stairs, though, John took his arm. Virgil pulled against him but his brother was stronger right now and Virgil couldn't shake him.

"You can't help, Virgil," John said. "You need to be in bed."

" _You_ need to be in bed," Virgil retorted, not caring if it was childish.

"I slept the whole way home."

"So did I."

"I haven't spent the last week in hospital."

"Technically-," Virgil knew he was being difficult. But he didn't care. He pulled against the grip John had on his arm.

"In a hospital _bed_. Virg, you-,"

"Don't say it!" He was sick of people telling him he had died, as if he might forget that fact.

John changed tack. "Kyrano's in there with Dad. You'll get in the way. Get some rest, Virg, then you can see him."

"No." Virgil shoved his brother and John relented, letting go of his arm. "I'm not leaving him. Not again."

"Virgil-," John sounded resigned, but the stubborn glint in his eye meant Virgil knew he wouldn't back down either. He even knew why – John was feeling out of his depth and focusing on his younger brothers was the only thing he could think of doing right now. But Virgil had no intention of doing what John wanted, and he refused to back down.

"Stop it." The quiet voice was unfamiliar and Virgil whipped around. Gordon was slumped against the wall, looking at the floor. Virgil glanced at John, who returned his look with equal concern. Their heated words were forgotten as they both moved towards their brother.

"Gords?"

If both he and John had slept the entire way home, there was no way Gordon had. His face was pale and drawn, his arm bound in a sling across his chest. The pinch on the bridge of his nose told Virgil how much pain Gordon was in. He looked again at John, seeing the guilt flicker across his face as he too noticed Gordon's haunted appearance. Virgil had picked up enough to know Gordon had taken the bullet for John.

They reached him, but Gordon still refused to look up.

"Have you taken something?" Virgil asked softly. Gordon was between them and the infirmary and he bet his brother had just come from there. Gordon nodded but withdrew when Virgil reached out a hand.

"What is it?" John said, stepping closer. Virgil was not the only one realising this wasn't anything to do with his arm. Gordon shrugged, then went deathly pale, his eyes closing as a soft grunt escaped him.

"Tell us," Virgil said.

"We can help," John added.

Gordon finally looked at them and - to Virgil's relief - there was a faint smile on his face.

"Maybe I should have left you arguing," he muttered.

"We weren't arguing," John said and Virgil raised an eyebrow.

"Speak for yourself." His tone was light and when John pretended to glare at him, Gordon smiled properly. Virgil shared a look of triumph with his big brother. They always knew how to get through to their younger ones.

It wasn't enough for Gordon to wriggle his way out of not answering them, though. John repeated the question and Gordon sighed.

"He doesn't look like Scott in there," he murmured, staring back down the hallway towards the infirmary.

Virgil sighed. He knew exactly how Gordon felt. He had seen Scott in that place, seen the defeat and helplessness in his expression. Although Gordon had been spared that, seeing Scott unconscious and unresponsive was unnerving enough. Their father had tried to shield them the first time around but they weren't children any longer. It didn't make it any easier facing it now.

Virgil looked at Gordon, narrowing his eyes. Then he looked at John and jerked his head back towards the stairs. John nodded in understanding. He gently took Gordon's good arm.

"He will," he said quietly. "You just need to give him time."

Virgil watched, smiling, as John slowly led Gordon off and up the stairs without their brother appearing to notice. Just before he disappeared from view though, John glanced back over his shoulder. Virgil pretended to ignore the look: John wasn't through with him yet, either.

Rather than wait for his brother to continue his argument about why he should be in bed (he knew too well that _both_ of his big brothers had the power to make him listen, whether he wanted to or not), he slipped down the hallway to the infirmary. His hand hovered over the door, unable to bring himself to open it. Seeing Scott had unnerved Gordon – the man who had charged down a tunnel yelling, knowing there were armed hostiles waiting for him. Virgil wasn't as brave as his brother.

Then he snapped himself out of it and opened the door.

Scott might be pale and unconscious. But Virgil had seen him chained to a wall in agony. This had to be better.

His dad and Kyrano were bent over Scott. Virgil didn't say anything, but pulled a chair closer to the bed. He didn't want to get in the way, painfully aware that he couldn't help right now. But as their soft voices washed over him, his gaze locked on his brother.

Surrounded by the starched white of the bed linen, Scott looked paler than before. It made the bruises more obvious. Someone had removed his top, and a thick wad of bandages were wrapped around his torso. Virgil had already suspected broken ribs. There was a splint on his broken arm and Virgil knew they had to wait for the x-ray before they could support it properly.

As he watched, Scott suddenly frowned, twitching. His father looked up briefly but neither man stopped what they were doing; they had their work cut out for them as it was. Virgil moved forward, perching on the very edge of his chair so he could reach his brother. He didn't know what time his father had given Scott the sedative, or if his brother had had anything since. He couldn't do anything drug-related without clearing it with his dad. But that didn't mean he couldn't help.

"Easy," he breathed. He rested a hand on top of Scott's head, not wanting to cause his brother additional pain. It also kept him out of the way.

"You're safe now," Virgil continued. "You're home. We're both home."

His voice hitched as he finally accepted the truth of those words. Blag was dead: it was over. They had made it home.

Scott frowned again and Virgil sniffed. It was typical of his brother to pick up the distress in his voice despite being unconscious.

"I'm okay," Virgil told him. "The others got there in time. They pulled me out. He didn't win, Scott. You hear me? I survived, so did Matt, John and Gordon. Now you as well. You beat him, Scott. You saved us again. We're all okay, so you just focus on yourself, you hear?"

Scott's expression eased and his face relaxed as he sank into a deeper sleep again. Virgil had no idea how long it was going to take until his brother stopped fighting against everything. He knew Scott relaxing could be dangerous – he had been running on adrenaline for so long. Virgil hoped that Blag had been too twisted in his plans to let his men do any life-threatening damage to his brother – it wouldn't have been a victory for Blag if Scott succumbed to his injuries.

A hand suddenly rested on his shoulder and Virgil looked up to see his dad smiling down at him.

"How about you take your own advice and focus on you for a little bit?"

Virgil shook his head. "He needs me."

"He does. Which means I need you rested for when he wakes."

"I'm not leaving him."

"I won't ask you to."

Virgil followed his father's gaze and saw him looking pointedly at the other bed in the room. Virgil swallowed. He didn't want to give in, but he could feel his body protesting what it had been through since he left the hospital. He ached and couldn't deny he was tired again. It would also be the only way he could stay in the infirmary; if his father and John teamed up together, he was fully aware he would be in his own bed before he knew what happened.

"Just an hour." Virgil reluctantly stood up, leaving his hand resting on Scott for as long as he could before turning away. It felt like a long way to the other bed, his feet dragging, but with his father following him, he couldn't turn around. He lay down, instantly rolling on one side so he could continue watching Scott. The warm weight of a blanket settled over him and his father's hand brushed through his hair.

"Sleep, Virg," his dad whispered, "Scott will be here when you wake up."

His choice of words did it. For the first time since this began, Virgil allowed himself to drift off, content in the knowledge his brother would still be in the same room as him when he opened his eyes again.

* * *

John was up before dawn.

He felt ill as he stepped onto his balcony. A faint hue brushed the horizon, but there was no sign of the sun yet. Despite battling Gordon into resting and returning to find his father had beaten him to it with Virgil, he had barely slept himself. Days of keeping himself awake were taking their toll; his mind and body now refused to relax, even though he knew they were home and safe.

He raided the (thankfully deserted) kitchen before moving through to the infirmary. Virgil hadn't left the previous day but to John's relief, he was still asleep. He wasn't sure if he was feeling up to acting as a big brother right now. Not while standing at the end of Scott's bed, staring at his _own_ big brother and chewing his lip, feeling helplessly out of his depth.

They all had first-aid training and John could handle more injuries than an average civilian. But he spent most of his time on Thunderbird Five – he hadn't picked up the same instincts as his brothers when it came to dealing with wounds. He couldn't help Scott.

None of them were doctors but John couldn't bear the thought of even mentioning taking Scott to the mainland. It was selfish, but he knew the others would agree with him. They had the equipment and they had the supplies, but Brains was the only one with any real qualifications. Virgil had taken a budding interest when he was young, but his brother wasn't well either; they couldn't put this on Virgil's shoulders.

John suddenly realised there _was_ something he could do to help his brother. He slipped out of the infirmary and sped through the villa. The door to his father's office was ajar and hearing voices made John change direction. It was early but it was no surprise he wasn't the only one awake.

He didn't go in. Hovering uncertainly outside meant he overheard enough of his father's conversation. The man was on the phone to Alan's school, arranging for the youngest to come home for a while. School had been safe while Blag was loose: it offered the best security. They also knew that Blag would have likely forgotten about Alan – he had been too young to be part of the drama when they were young.

But now it was safe, there was no reason why the family couldn't be properly reunited. John smiled as he stole away again. Knowing what his youngest brother was like when he felt he was being left out, he imagined the school would be glad to get rid of Alan for a few days.

Slipping into the silos, he moved quickly to Thunderbird Three and started running through the pre-flight checks. He knew what his dad would say if he asked permission, so he wasn't going to ask. It reminded him of how he had handled going to New York in the first place – something that felt like years ago now.

Once Three was ready, John muttered an apology to the rest of the family. No one (apart from Virgil) would sleep through the launch but he figured this was the one time they would accept it. He opened the concealed exit and pulled back on the throttle.

The radio crackled to life immediately.

" _What the hell are you doing?"_ His father sounded more drained than angry, though. John knew he was doing the right thing; his dad couldn't handle this on his own.

"Getting Brains," John said shortly. "Stand by for launch."

" _No. You're not rested. You don't have a co-pilot."_

"We need him."

" _I forbid it."_

"Sorry, Dad." John cut the radio and focused on the launch. He didn't need a co-pilot. Apart from his father, he was the only one in the family who had done this for a career as well as with International Rescue. He knew what he was doing.

He launched – possibly quicker than he should have done. But he couldn't give his father the chance to override him. There would be words when he got back, but he had to do this. It was what Scott needed him to do – and if their positions had been reversed, John knew his brother would act just as rashly if it meant helping.

After that, the flight was fairly uneventful. The radio flared a few times – one was his father but he seemed to accept that now John had launched, there was nothing he could say. The other was Gordon, his voice hazy with pain, demanding to know why John hadn't woken him to assist.

Both times, John cut them off after only a few words and concentrated on flying. He needed the time alone, to process what had happened and what their future was going to be, without being asked if he was alright. He was used to being alone – his role as the Space Monitor had taught him that much. All this time in a confined space with his family meant he needed some breathing space.

It was a smooth flight and John was soon docked. He disembarked, running his fingers fondly over the walls of Thunderbird Five as he entered. Brains was waiting for him, a bag by his feet. John knew his dad had been in touch and was glad it meant he didn't waste time while Brains packed.

"Are you ready?" He wasn't in the mood for small talk. Brains nodded and it only took the pair of them a minute to flick Five onto autopilot: it was a job they had done together since International Rescue had begun.

Brains left and John followed him out. He paused before activating the airlock, though, looking back at his 'bird. This was the first time he had come here without any intention to stay. He wondered when – if – they would be operational again.

It didn't matter now though. Only his family mattered. The rest of the world would have to look after itself for a while.

He entered the code, sealing Thunderbird Five before making his way back to Three. Brains was already preparing for launch and John didn't argue, slipping into the co-pilot's seat. As Brains disengaged, turned the rocket around and started streaking back to Earth, John closed his eyes. He didn't sleep, but the vibrations of a rocket in space soothed him in a way he couldn't explain. He felt much calmer a few hours later when Brains requested permission to land and skilfully brought Thunderbird Three back to her resting spot.

His father and Gordon were waiting as they climbed down from the ship. John loosened the collar of his flight suit, catching Gordon's eye. His brother shook his head, not attempting to hide his smirk.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again." His father's sharp reprimand made him look over. Brains slipped past them and John knew his friend would head straight to the infirmary. Brains would understand why John had acted the way he had done, and wouldn't waste time now he was back on Earth.

"I had to," John said. "Scott needs him."

"You're exhausted. Scott did _not_ need you burning up in the atmosphere because you were too stubborn to wait for help."

"I knew what I was doing."

"That's not the point!"

"Dad?" Gordon stepped forward. "It's done. There's nothing you can do now and yelling at him won't help. John's right: Scott needs Brains. I know you were planning to go this afternoon."

Their father opened his mouth, but Gordon wasn't finished.

" _Alone_."

John watched his dad flush, glare at Gordon, then glare at him.

"Don't do it again," he said. He turned and hurried after Brains, muttering under his breath about troublesome sons.

John looked at Gordon and saw his brother was grinning at him.

"I'm impressed, Johnny," he said. "You stole a rocket."

John rolled his eyes but he was smiling. Not only would Brains help Scott, it seemed his actions had helped Gordon as well. Either one of those reasons would be enough for him to do it again.

"How did you know what Dad was planning?" he asked.

"He was asking Brains for advice last night. He knows Scott needs him and wouldn't let us go."

"You guessed?"

"I was right," Gordon said, looking affronted. "And just saved your ass."

"Thanks, kid." John motioned for Gordon to lead the way out of the silos. It was cold down there and John wanted to change before returning to the infirmary. As they moved upstairs, he unconsciously massaged his shoulder: the cold air had caused it to stiffen. He only realised what he was doing when he saw how closely Gordon was watching him.

"You'll have to teach me that trick," Gordon said quietly. John stopped, sighing.

"You shouldn't have got in the way."

"I should've just let you be shot then?" Gordon's tone was incredulous.

"Yes!" John ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze locked on Gordon's arm. "That shot could have killed you."

"It didn't."

"It could have!"

"John-," Gordon paused, struggling to find the words. "You did it for me. When we were kids. I remember that, clearer than anything else from back then. I'm a trained WASP agent and a member of International Rescue. I did it knowing full well what I was doing. You did it only knowing you had to look out for me."

"Do you think I could bear it if you'd been killed?"

"I wasn't."

"But-,"

"How often do you tell me not to dwell on the what if's?" Gordon said, looking him directly in the eye. John flushed, shifting. After every bad rescue, he always had words of comfort to offer his brothers to help them deal with what had happened.

"This is different," he retorted. Gordon shook his head.

"No, it's not. Saving people is my job. And if that means saving my brother, then it's just a job well done."

John tried to think of a comeback. Gordon should never have been put in a position where he could have been killed in the first place, let alone one where he was saving John's life. But they had survived an explosion, together. They had raced across several states after their brothers, not knowing what they were walking in on, together. And they had sat by Virgil's bedside, together, after rescuing him.

Gordon was right; this was what they did.

It didn't mean he liked it.

He reached forward, curling his fingers around the back of Gordon's neck.

"Don't ever do that again."

"Yes, Dad," Gordon said. John shook his head in amusement before letting go and nudging his brother towards the kitchen.

"Go on, smart-ass," he said. "Make Grandma's day and let her fuss over you a bit."

Gordon pulled a face but obediently turned towards the kitchen. John headed upstairs, quickly showering before returning to the infirmary.

Virgil was awake, sitting on the bed with his legs dangling off the side. His gaze was fixed on the other bed, though, where Brains was bustling around. The portable x-ray machine was to one side and John recognised the equipment needed to make a proper cast for Scott's arm. He smiled, crossed the room and hitched himself onto the bed next to Virgil. Both watched Brains work silently for a few moments.

"Thanks," Virgil muttered. John looked at him.

"For what?"

"Getting Brains," Virgil said. "Scott needs him."

"I know," John murmured, watching as Brains pushed up his glasses and picked up Scott's good arm, tying a tourniquet above his elbow. As he picked up a needle, clearly intending to draw blood, John realised he was not the only one to flinch. They both knew how much Scott would hate it.

"He can't feel it," John said, reassuring himself as well as Virgil. "Better now than when he is awake."

Virgil nodded and they both watched Brains work silently.

"Hey John?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks," Virgil said again. John looked at him.

" _Now_ what?" He had an uncomfortable feeling of de-ja-vu, as if he was repeating the conversation he had just had with Gordon. Virgil shrugged.

"For letting me go in there. I know you didn't want to."

"You weren't going to turn back."

Virgil gave him a sheepish smile. "Nope. But you still agreed."

John sighed. Another brother he had let run into danger. But then he stared across the room and sighed, his gaze fixed on Scott.

"This started with the two of you," he muttered. "It felt like that was how it had to end."

Virgil followed his gaze.

"No," he said. "It ended with all of us. Together. As a family."

John smiled. He knew what Virgil meant. This had begun, all those years ago, because their family was falling apart. But now? No matter what Blag had tried, they had pulled through it, together.

He only hoped that was enough to get Scott through this.


	27. Chapter 27

_Wow, guys, we are getting so close to the end now! Thank you so much for those of you who have stuck with me and I'm really glad you've been enjoying the story._

* * *

Virgil threw the towel on the floor as he stepped out of the bathroom. He grabbed his top, but paused before pulling it on, instead moving across to the mirror. He was not a vain man but took a moment to stare at his reflection.

He had lost weight and still looked exhausted. The bruising he had sustained from the beatings were beginning to fade, although ugly splashes of colour lingered across his torso, and the marks around his wrists were still red. They didn't hurt – as long as Virgil didn't think about his frantic struggles as the water had lapped around his waist.

He shivered and pulled the top on. Despite the obvious marks, he had expected something else, something _more_. As his family liked to remind him, he had drowned. The mental scars ran deep and it would take time to get over that – he knew that. But he had expected some visible mark to identify what he had been through.

Turning away, he picked up the towel. He didn't want to stay away but Scott wouldn't be stirring anytime soon. Brains had re-administered the sedative and they had all heard the plan: keep Scott unconscious for a few days while they gave his body the chance to heal, then slowly ease him off it, letting him realise for himself it was safe to sleep.

Part of Virgil, a selfish part, was glad Scott was asleep. Being home had brought with it a whirlwind of emotions he was struggling to process and he wanted time before facing up to them. He didn't have much luck hiding how he was feeling from John and Gordon, but it was impossible to conceal anything from his oldest brother.

Scott needed to focus on himself, not using Virgil as a scapegoat for avoiding facing up to what had happened. At least this time, there was no denying it was over. Two bullets at point blank range had seen to that.

Someone knocked on his door.

"Come in," Virgil called, stepping back into the room again and kicking the bathroom door shut behind him. Alan appeared, staring at Virgil incredulously.

"Gordon said you died!"

Virgil raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Did he?"

It hadn't taken long for his father to arrange to have Alan brought home. He had arrived the day before but Virgil had barely seen him: he had spent the evening shut in their father's study with the man – not a place Alan normally voluntarily went.

When the door opened again, it was just so their dad could send Alan to bed - and the rest of them when he caught them lurking. Virgil had spent another night in the infirmary - another brother seeking out spaces normally avoided.

Despite having been physically safe, there were still dark circles under Alan's eyes and his face was pale. It had been frustrating stuck in the hospital, not able to act. Virgil dreaded to think what Alan had been putting his peers through and hoped Fermat had been able to get through to him, even when no one else could. He still didn't know what his dad had told the kid – Alan would have tried calling; he would have found out _something_ was going on. But what he knew at school, and what he found out when in their dad's study the evening before, Virgil wasn't sure.

"He didn't mean to," Alan admitted, scuffing his feet and refusing to meet Virgil's gaze. He shuffled further into the room, shutting the door behind him. "But it's true, isn't it? You died."

"Doesn't matter," Virgil said, "I'm fine."

"But-,"

"You ever heard of a living, breathing, walking, talking ghost?"

It was easy, in a way. Alan had been sheltered from this, and Virgil had no intention of shattering that. Certain truths couldn't be avoided; everyone in the villa had heard Alan's reaction when he first saw Scott and it had taken their grandmother over an hour to calm him down.

If logic came into it, Virgil knew they should have left Alan at school, at least until some of the physical injuries had healed. But they had just gone through hell being torn apart; they all had a need for the entire family to be together. Facing it now, with all of them to support him, would ultimately be easier for Alan than things being let slip (as was now the case) and his brother assuming the worst.

Still, there were some things they _could_ control and Virgil didn't intend Alan finding out how close it had been. He guessed when Gordon had let his drowning slip, he forgot to mention the explosion that could have taken both him and John.

Alan frowned at him. "Is it true?" he pressed.

Virgil sighed, running a hand through his hair. He sat down on the end of the bed, gesturing for Alan to join him.

"Do you remember anything from before?"

John had revealed Gordon remembered more than any of them thought. But Alan had only been a toddler and they had kept the full truth from him the best they could.

Alan shook his head as he sat down.

"A feeling," he muttered, "of being abandoned. I don't even know if it's from then."

Virgil smiled softly. Gordon had had the same; a fear of being left. Alan had probably picked it up from Gordon without ever realising why.

"It was hell," Virgil admitted. Alan looked at him in surprise. Virgil knew he had to give Alan something, even if it was to protect him from the full story.

"But we got through it. We pulled together."

"We nearly didn't," Alan said. "Didn't Scott end up back in hospital?"

"I thought you didn't remember anything?"

Alan shrugged. "I shared a room with Gords for years. I pick up stuff."

Virgil chuckled softly. He slung an arm around Alan's shoulders. "We got through it," he said, his voice sincere. "And we'll do it again."

Alan nodded. Virgil suddenly realised how close to tears his brother was and knew that, by avoiding the question, Alan had got his answer.

"Come on," Virgil said quietly. He gripped Alan's shoulder, guiding him to his feet. "I know what will help."

"I'm not going to the infirmary," Alan said. Virgil knew Gordon's influence was already affecting him: one younger brother wouldn't do something, so neither would the other.

"Something better." Virgil led Alan from his room, down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Alan tried to shrug him off but Virgil tightened his grip.

"I'm not hungry."

"Yeah, right."

His brother was sixteen – Virgil highly doubted there was ever a time when Alan wasn't hungry. But that wasn't why he had brought him here. Pushing the door open with his hip, he glanced around.

"Grandma?"

"Over here, dear."

His grandmother was sitting at the table with a cup of tea in front of her. She was finding it as hard as Gordon and Alan to see Scott in the infirmary, preferring to focus her attention on the rest of them until her grandson was awake.

"Al needs a sugar boost."

"I see." Their grandmother crossed to them, cupping Alan's face for a few seconds before drawing him away from Virgil. "I know just the thing."

"But-," Alan didn't stand a chance as his grandmother guided him further into the kitchen, sitting him down.

Virgil slipped out before the attention was turned on him. Long afternoons at the kitchen table, cradling hot chocolates and talking to their grandmother were memories they all shared of their childhood. They admitted things to her they would never say to one another and she was the only person Alan would truly let his guard down around.

Virgil knew his father was in the infirmary: it was where Virgil should be. But he detoured via the lounge, realised his brothers were outside and went that way instead. John was on his laptop, brow furrowed and fingers tapping. Gordon was sitting on the edge of a lounger, staring wistfully at the pool.

"I want a word with you," Virgil said, making Gordon jump. His brother sighed.

"This is about Alan, isn't it?"

"What did you tell him for, you _idiot_?" Despite his words, his tone was soft. Gordon looked so miserable he didn't have the heart to be angry.

"I didn't mean to," his brother said. His expression was one of contrition and Virgil believed him. "But he wouldn't let up about my arm and it just slipped out."

"He's going to ask questions," John said quietly. "We all know hiding stuff doesn't work."

"He's a kid."

"So we were, Virg."

Virgil looked at John, then looked away. His brother was right: Scott had been Alan's age, the rest of them younger, when this had started. Alan had three of them to quiz – four if he started on their dad. If their answers didn't match up, he would form his own idea of what had happened.

"Can't fly in reality," Gordon murmured softly, also looking at John. Virgil didn't know what he was talking about but the expression on John's face revealed he did.

"He'll start imaging worse if we don't give him something," John explained.

Gordon laughed – a humourless sound that fell flat. "What's worse?"

No one had an answer to that. Virgil sighed, taking the chance to stare at the view, drinking it in, enjoying the fact he was here, alive, in order to see it.

Then he moved.

"I'm going to-,"

"Sit and stare at Scott until he wakes up," Gordon said. "Got it."

Virgil looked at his brother. He knew the pain was only partly to blame for the tension running through Gordon.

"Al's looking for you," he said. "Think he said something about trying the kitchen first?"

Gordon stood up, cradling his arm. "I'll go get him before he decides to search the forest."

His tone was hollow and Virgil bit his lip as he watched his brother go inside. Despite all they had spoken about in the hospital, Gordon was struggling to deal with everything that had happened.

"Alan knows he's out here." John sounded suspicious and Virgil grinned.

"He's with Grandma." It was the only explanation needed. She could handle Gordon and Alan together just as easily as one of them and her fussing over both would unite them. It was what Gordon needed.

"Nicely played." John turned back to his laptop.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping Dad," John murmured, already engrossed again. "We still need to find a way to explain what happened. We've got Scott here: they'll know we're involved."

"What's Llina said?"

"She's stalling the officials," John said, "but she can't keep it up for much longer. Dad's in talks with the GDF."

Virgil nodded distractedly. The Global Defence Force knew their true identities. While they would help, it would also reveal they had taken the law into their own hands when they stormed that bunker. Blag wouldn't have been the only one who hadn't made it out alive and Virgil wasn't certain what would happen next.

"Go on," John said with a fond laugh, "I know you don't want to be out here with me."

A flash of guilt shot through Virgil. His brother had stayed by his side, had saved his life, but Virgil couldn't deny his words.

"Do you need any help?"

"Virg-," John looked up, shaking his head. "Go and relieve Dad. I'll be in shortly. You need to rest, kid, before your body remembers that you were in hospital three days ago. Go and sit with Scott."

Virgil scowled. "He's not awake. If you need-,"

"Virgil: go away."

Virgil went. He had tried but they both knew that if he truly wanted to stay with John, his brother's dismissal would have meant nothing. They both knew where he wanted to be.

The soft murmur of voices from the kitchen made him smile. He'd originally planned to get a coffee but didn't want to interrupt – or let his grandmother set her sights on him. Instead, he moved straight to the infirmary.

His father was slumped in a chair, watching Scott with a vacant expression. It was no surprise he needed John to help figure out a plausible explanation for all of this: his mind was stuck in the past, remembering the last time he had been in this position. Although whether that was waiting for Virgil to wake up in the hospital or when Scott had been re-admitted when they were young, Virgil couldn't say.

He touched his father lightly on the shoulder.

"Go and get some air, Dad," he murmured. "I'll watch him."

His father stretched, his hands resting on his lower back as he straightened out.

"Brains will be in shortly," he said. "Tell him there's been no change."

"I will."

"And tell him-,"

"Dad," Virgil interrupted. "It's okay. I know what I'm doing."

His father rested a hand on his shoulder before moving towards the door. "I won't be long."

"Get some rest, Dad. You're exhausted."

His father heard him but Virgil doubted he had listened. He would return shortly, looking just as drained as he did now.

Virgil couldn't blame him. He felt the same. He took the man's vacated chair and moved it closer to the bed, sitting down, toeing off his shoes and putting his feet up. He couldn't shake the memory of Scott's wide-eyed look of terror when the hole in the crypt had been widened, or his brother's broken whisper, his promise to stay alive until he had avenged them.

Virgil couldn't leave him. Not now. Not after everything.

* * *

" _He's dead and it's your fault. You chose him: you killed him!"_

"Brains, he's stirring."

"He s-shouldn't, uh, be."

" _What would your mother think of you?"_

 _The same words, hissed in hatred as the men closed in; shouted in glee when he fought back. The same phrase, echoing in his soul…_

"His heart-rate has rocketed!"

" _It's all your fault."_

"Shh, Scotty. Sleep."

 _A pinch…Blackness…_

 _He couldn't get up. Someone kicked his knees, someone else held him down…_

"Brains?"

"He seems to be, uh, fighting it."

"Then do something! He's burning up."

 _Rope burnt his wrists, his arms twisted around the chair._ His _smirking face as his men asked questions he didn't understand…_

"Easy, big brother."

 _A pinch…Blackness._

 _A hand closed around his throat._

"Don't fight it, son. It will help you. You're safe, just relax…."

" _I own you. You trained, because of me. You fight, because of me. I_ own _you."_

 _Unable to breathe…_

" _You'll never escape me."_

"It's over. You're safe. We're all safe. Don't fight it, Scott…please, stop fighting us."

 _A pinch. Blackness…_

" _What would your mother think?"_

 _Blackness…_

" _I own you."_

 _Blackness…_

" _They're alive, Scott, they're here. We're all here."_

 _Blac-_

Light.

His eyes opened.

He stared around incomprehensibly. He wasn't in his cell any longer. Bright light washed across his vision and he was warm and comfortable. His gaze moved and he carefully looked around. He recognised this place.

 _Home_.

He was home.

"Scott?"

His breath caught at the voice. Turning his head was effort but he managed it, trying to focus. His dad smiled at him, reaching forward, the back of his fingers resting against Scott's cheek.

"You're okay," he murmured softly, "you're safe."

But his dad hadn't been there. Virgil had.

Hadn't he?

He was certain he hadn't imagined his brother being there, promising the others were there as well. But Virgil wasn't here now…

"V'g?" His voice betrayed him; hoarse with misuse and his throat burning as he attempted to speak. His father understood him though – and he wasn't the only one.

"I'm here, Scott."

His brother came into view, smiling at him. Scott stared. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a trick. His brother was alive. So was he. And they were home.

"J'hn?" he rasped. "Gord'n?"

"All present and correct." The cheerful voice came from the end of the bed and Scott forced himself to squint in that direction. John and Gordon were standing there, relief obvious in their expressions. Scott took in the sling supporting Gordon's arm, then realised someone else was there.

"Al?"

"I'd have stayed in school if I knew I was coming home for roll-call."

Scott stared, not understanding how his youngest brother was here as well. Gordon frowned momentarily, then turned to Alan.

"They'd have kicked you out. Scorch marks don't come out of ceilings, Sprout."

Gordon's words distracted the family from Scott's confusion, and Alan glared at him.

"Shut up," he said, elbowing him.

"Ow, watch the ribs."

"There's nothing wrong with your ribs."

"Okay, boys, enough. Go and give your grandmother a hand."

His father's voice washed over him: firm, in control and _safe_. Scott shut his eyes, leaning back, unable to support his own weight any longer. He had never realised he associated his father with safety until that moment.

"Literally," Alan snorted.

"Alright, smart-ass," Gordon said. Scott opened his eyes to watch as Gordon pulled Alan into a headlock and bustled him towards the door. Alan left but Gordon paused in the doorway, looking back.

"Man, it's good to see you awake," he said before disappearing after Alan. Scott tried to smile - it was what his brothers needed - but he couldn't.

"Go back to sleep, Scotty," his father murmured, his voice soft.

Scott shook his head. He couldn't sleep: sleep wasn't allowed, it was… exactly what he needed, safe with his family, on their island, where no one could reach them.

His hand scrunched into a fist, trembling violently, as he tried to accept he was allowed to rest. A hand covered his.

"You don't have to," his dad said. "Just relax."

Knowing it was his choice stopped him fighting it. As soon as he did so, his entire body relaxed and his eyes slipped shut again.

It was dark when he woke. The infirmary was bathed in a soft yellow light and he could focus better when he looked around. John and Virgil were still there. John was working on his laptop and Virgil looked to be asleep, sprawled in a chair. But John looked up as soon as Scott opened his eyes and kicked Virgil's chair, making him also open his eyes.

"Hey," Virgil said, leaning forward. "How are-,"

John cleared his throat meaningfully and Virgil's mouth snapped shut. Even in the dim light, Scott saw him flush.

He tried to speak, but only croaked. Attempting to clear his throat backfired: once he started coughing, he couldn't stop, each gasp of breath feeling like a fire raging in his throat. As he struggled to breathe, both of his brothers stood up.

Virgil reached for something hooked over the edge of the bed but Scott didn't notice it was an oxygen mask until his brother held it over his mouth. As the fresh oxygen flooded him, he managed to catch his breath. John appeared as Virgil drew back, a glass of water in his hand. Scott stared at it. He remembered chasing droplets in the bottom of a bucket, desperate for a drink. He remembered Blag making a show of drinking in front of his prisoner while Scott was tied to a chair, unable to react.

He couldn't remember the last time he had drunk.

John slipped a straw in and held it up for him. Scott gulped eagerly, only his brother pinching the straw now and again to slow the flow stopping him from going too fast. He sat back when the glass was empty, panting.

"Better?" John said, smiling, as he set it to one side and perched on the edge of the bed.

Scott stared at him. The last time he had seen John, an explosion had ripped them apart. He had had no idea if his brothers had survived it – they had been so _close_ – and he wasn't sure he believed what his senses were telling him.

"They're alive, Scott," Virgil said softly, reading him. "We all are."

Scott's gaze shifted onto Virgil. His brother smiled at him, and shame greater than anything he had ever known overwhelmed him, catching in his chest and forcing him to lower his gaze rather than face Virgil.

It didn't matter that Virgil had survived Blag's test. Scott had chosen. He had condemned his brother to death. He hadn't known a rescue was coming; hadn't dreamt of a way Virgil would escape.

He had killed his brother.

The fact Virgil had survived was neither here nor there.

"Scott?"

He realised too late his thoughts must be showing in his expression. He stared at the bed instead, not knowing what to say. Virgil shifted closer, and suddenly a hand touched his neck gently as his brother swore.

"What did he do to you?"

Scott shrugged, squeezing his eyes shut. Virgil shouldn't care, not after what Scott had done. But he could still feel Blag's hands around his throat, still hear his claims that he was responsible for who Scott had become.

"It's alright," Virgil continued, "you can talk to us."

He couldn't. He couldn't admit to anything after what he had done to his brother. He kept his eyes shut, turning away.

"Scott?"

"Virg, get out."

" _What?_ "

He heard John move around the bed, but kept his gaze averted. He heard his brothers whispering – Virgil furious, John calm – until the sound of footsteps and the door opening, then closing rang through the room. There was a moment of silence.

"Just us, big brother," John said quietly. There was the scrape of a chair and Scott opened his eyes. John sat at the end of the bed, giving him space. Scott looked at him, then looked away.

"So," John continued. He folded his arms and looked steadily at him. Scott tried to flinch away, but he couldn't escape John's gaze.

"You gonna tell me what this is about? Why you won't look at Virgil? Or do you need me to say it?"

Scott knew he would – he had lost count of how many times John had accurately known what was bothering him. Virgil was there when he needed someone to confide in or to rant at. Both Virgil and John could read him, knew what he wasn't saying. But while Virgil knew and let him address it in his own time, John forced him to confront it, knowing he needed to speak often before Scott himself did.

He didn't speak this time though and John sighed.

"Stop me when I'm wrong," he said, straightening up. "You think that, because Blag was a deranged madman, it's somehow your fault that Virgil was in that crypt when it flooded? That it's your fault Virgil got taken, your fault that Gords and I were caught in that explosion? Your fault that you went through hell?"

"I led you there." Scott suddenly found his voice. It was hoarse and it hurt, but he needed John to stop sounding so calm. He needed his brother to understand this was his fault – and to hate him for it. "I pushed you to go to that hanger. I didn't get down to the street in time, I froze. And I chose."

The last part was little more than a whisper, but Scott knew his brother heard him.

"Did you kidnap Virgil?"

"No, but-,

"Did you blow up the hanger?"

"No, but-,"

"Did you lock Virg in that crypt? Did you let the water in?"

"He made me choose-,"

"Have you been through absolute hell, physically and emotionally, over the last few weeks, fighting with everything you have just to stay alive?"

"To avenge-,"

"Remind me again: how is any of this your fault?"

"I didn't shoot!" Scott's voice rose and another cough tore through him. John shifted but Scott caught his breath, even if the effort left him shaking and slumped back against the pillows again.

"I had the chance and-,"

"Scott, stop." John's voice was firm, a tone used to being listened to in difficult situations. "You _did_ shoot. You saved Virgil's life. You saved us all. You ended it."

"That's not when I meant."

"I know," John said softly. "I don't know what you went through, Scott. I can't pretend to understand. But I do know who is to blame, and it's not you. I know exactly what Virgil needs right now, and that _is_ you."

"But-,"

"You're not the only one who nearly got a brother killed," John muttered. Scott stared at him, then remembered Gordon's sling. He shifted.

"What happened?" It was suddenly instinctual: something was troubling John. But his brother laughed softly, shaking his head.

"Later," he said. He stood up. "Can I get Virg back now?"

Scott lay his head back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. "Only Virg," he murmured. He couldn't face the others. Couldn't even face his father.

He had always prided himself on being Jeff Tracy's son. Now, he didn't know if that was true, or whether someone else had been a bigger influence on his choices.

John's hand was suddenly on his shoulder. "You're not alone, Scott," he murmured. "Remember that."

He gave his arm a squeeze and left, no doubt to track Virgil down. Scott knew he wouldn't have far to go: Virgil was probably right outside the door. John was giving him the chance to pull himself together. Scott looked at the IV line running into his arm and his hand clenched.

He was on his own – and knew that wouldn't be a common occurrence over the next few days. A wordless, soundless scream ripped from him as he acknowledged the pain, the fear and the anger. As his emotions surged, he was vaguely aware of an insistent beeping and realised he wasn't _truly_ alone – he was being monitored.

But even as the door opened and hurried footsteps crossed the infirmary, Scott realised he was tired of fighting. He didn't have to be strong now.

As his brothers and father reached the bed, he surrendered back to the blackness.


	28. Chapter 28

_Sorry for the delay - life just seems to be getting in the way. Or I really don't want this to end... Not long to go now._

* * *

With the phone pressed to his ear, Jeff lent back in his seat, resisting the urge to shut his eyes. He had started a business from scratch, raised five sons on his own and set up International Rescue. He had never felt so tired, though - emotionally _and_ physically.

Hearing a noise, he looked up. For once, he had kept his office door open while working, needing to hear the instant one of his sons needed him. John was loitering in the hallway and Jeff beckoned for his son to come in.

"I'm going to have to call you back," he said. "Something's come up."

He disconnected without another word as John entered, slumping on the sofa.

"Who was that?" he asked, looking up at his father.

"The GDF," Jeff said, tossing the phone back on his desk and standing up, stretching.

"You just hung up on the GDF?"

John sounded impressed and Jeff allowed himself a shadow of a smile before frowning, looking at his son critically.

"You still haven't slept, have you?"

He knew John had barely rested since this had begun, taking it upon himself to find his brothers. Apart from the flight home from Russia, Jeff didn't know when his boy had managed more than a couple of hours at once.

John shrugged. "I tried," he admitted. "I can't switch off."

"You should probably stop with the coffee."

John looked horrified and Jeff chuckled before moving around his desk, perching on the edge so he was closer to his son.

"I mean it. You need to relax, Johnny. You can't keep running on fumes."

"I know." John dragged a hand through his hair, which only made him look worse. "But I said I'd help you."

A pang of guilt hit Jeff. He had asked for John's help, hoping having a challenge would distract his son from paying attention to the state of the rest of the family and take his mind off Gordon and Scott. But he'd never intended John to keep himself up in order to make a difference.

"We're getting there," Jeff said. "The GDF have persuaded the Russian authorities they carried out a stealth operation and cleared out the bunker. They've already rounded up the men we left behind; no one will get close enough to question them and learn the truth."

"And us?" John asked. "I'm pretty sure the GDF don't drop hostages off at home, Dad. We cleared a flight path – the authorities will know we were there."

"We're still working on that," Jeff said. "We're thinking of making it seem like we received a ransom, tipped off the GDF, ignored them telling us to go home and instead went to the rendezvous. It also gives the GDF a reason for searching that area."

"Will they really believe we could call in the GDF for a kidnapping?"

"Yes," Jeff admitted quietly. They were used to living their lives in the shadows, directing the attention elsewhere. They had lived on the island for so long now, operating in secrecy, that he wondered if his sons knew exactly how successful his business was. Jeff Tracy was one of the few men on the planet who could call in favours from almost every government and no one would question it.

John raised his eyebrows, astonished, but Jeff stood up.

"I've got this, Johnny," he said. "Go and get some rest."

John stood up. "That's not why I came," he said, taking a step towards the door.

Jeff _almost_ didn't want to know. He wasn't certain how much more he could deal with. Scott was still unconscious – or asleep, as his father preferred to think – after his episode earlier. Jeff had wiped the footage: his eldest wouldn't want the others seeing the sheer agony in his expression when he thought he had been alone. Brains was monitoring him now.

"What is it?" he asked. It didn't matter if he was on the edge. He had a lot more to give if that was what it took to help his boys.

John sighed. "Virgil won't go back in the infirmary."

Jeff shut his eyes. He understood why Gordon and Alan had been avoiding it. But Virgil had been alright up until now, though Jeff had an inkling of what was running through Virgil's head. His middle son wouldn't have needed to see the footage to know how badly Scott was hurting – the physical abuse was secondary compared to going that length of time believing his brothers were dead. Virgil understood that and, if Jeff knew his son as well as he thought he did, would be blaming himself.

"Go to bed, John," he murmured, putting a hand on John's shoulder. "Get a few hours' sleep if you can. I'll deal with your brother."

He steered his son out of his office, sending him towards his room. He had no idea if John would follow his advice – he had been ignoring him for the entire time Virgil was in hospital, after all – but he could at least relax in the safety of his own room.

Gordon and Alan were in the lounge and Jeff took the chance to hover in the doorway, unseen, to visually check his fourth-born. Gordon was still pale and Jeff knew he would be refusing regular pain relief, adamant he could handle it. But Gordon had been with an older sibling this entire time. Out of all of them, he would be handling events the best and Jeff was satisfied that, for now at least, Gordon didn't need him.

Then he went to find Virgil.

Virgil's bedroom door was shut but Jeff knocked softly and let himself in before his son could deny him access. Virgil was on his balcony but didn't look around when his father entered. Jeff crossed the room and joined him, noting the tight grip Virgil had on the railing. He looked so much like Scott in that moment – the tension in his shoulders, the set to his jaw – that Jeff was taken back to the night he had broken the news to Scott that Blag had broken out.

He would do anything to go back to that night and tell the boys as soon as he had found out. If he had told Virgil, if he had stopped his son from leaving the safety of the apartment…

"Virg?"

Virgil looked at him but didn't say anything. Jeff sighed. Virgil looked haunted – more so than John. He was supposed to be on bed-rest, taking it easy. It was the only reason why the hospital had discharged him. Instead, Virgil had ended up in a fight for not only his own life, but for his brother's, only hours after leaving.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Virgil said, truthfully.

Jeff sighed. "I didn't mean now, I meant…" He trailed off, running a hand over his face. "Why won't you go into the infirmary?"

Virgil scowled. "John told you?"

"He shouldn't have to," Jeff rebuked, then softened. "But I'm glad he did. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Virgil said again, now refusing to look at his father. Jeff shook his head, taking Virgil's arm, steering him inside and shutting the door. The last thing he needed was for his son to catch a chill after everything he had been through. He sat Virgil down on the end of the bed, crouching in front of him.

"Talk to me, kiddo," he murmured.

Virgil clasped his hands between his knees and for a moment, Jeff wasn't sure he was going to say anything. When Virgil did speak, his voice was hesitant.

"Every time," he said, his voice cracking. "Every time it's my fault."

"Virg-,"

"We got cornered in that alleyway because of me," he said and Jeff knew he was talking about the first time this had happened. "Scott came after me, _again_. He could have been shot on the street, killed in that bunker, because of me."

"You think this is your fault?"

He knew Virgil was blaming himself – his son had admitted as much when they were airborne. But Jeff had hoped that saving Scott, facing Blag for a final time, would alleviate these fears. He should have known – none of his boys let things go that easily.

"I left the apartment," Virgil said simply. "That's how all of this begun."

"It's not," Jeff said. "It began when I got a phone call from your brother and decided to keep it from you."

Virgil looked at him and Jeff wondered if his son had ever pieced together exactly what had happened that day.

"I wanted to keep you happy for a few hours longer," he said, his own guilt crushing him. "I didn't want you to worry. I kept it from you. If I had said something…"

"Dad-,"

"Scott shouldn't have been out in town with you before, either. It should have been me. If you're so adamant this is someone else's fault instead of Blag's, then it's mine."

Every nightmare the boys suffered, every time he saw the past haunting them, was a knife twisting in his gut. He had left them, buried himself in his work, and his children were still bearing the scars.

"No," Virgil said quietly. "It's not you, Dad. We've _never_ thought that."

"And no one has ever blamed you." Jeff reached up, cradling the back of Virgil's neck. " _Never_ think this is on you, you hear?"

Virgil swallowed thickly but nodded. Jeff knew Virgil didn't really believe him; there was only one person who would get through to him. But it was enough for now. He squeezed his hand and drew back, standing up.

"I thought you had dealt with the past years ago?"

He had forced Virgil to attend counselling when he realised how much his young son had been blaming himself. Thankfully, it had worked. Or so he thought.

Virgil shrugged. "So did I," he said, and Jeff believed him.

"Get some rest, Virg. You shouldn't be up."

Virgil looked away and Jeff raised an eyebrow, staring at his son until Virgil looked back.

"Nightmares?"

"Not really," Virgil said. "I'm bored of sleeping."

"Do I need to remind you that-,"

"I died, yeah, I know." Virgil toppled backwards until he was lying flat on his bed, pouting. Jeff chuckled.

"I never thought I'd see the day when you turned down the chance for a nap," he said. He moved towards the door as he spoke. "If you're not going to rest, you could go and see your brother."

"He's unconscious."

"Didn't stop you before."

"I might-,"

"Virgil." Jeff stopped, looking back. "Scott doesn't blame you. He's too busy blaming himself."

"What's he doing that for?" Virgil sounded so incredulous, propping himself up on his elbows to stare at his father, that Jeff laughed.

"He's a Tracy. You two need to talk. Go and see him. You'll feel better."

Virgil made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and Jeff chose that moment to leave. He knew his son: if he pushed too far, Virgil would do everything in his power to _not_ go to the infirmary, just to make the point that he was as stubborn as the rest of them. It was up to his boy now, and Jeff just hoped his middle son saw sense and realised speaking to Scott was the best thing for him.

He checked on John – confiscating his laptop when he saw him on it, much to John's dismay – and moved back to his office. But after leaving John's computer in there and shutting the door – knowing it wouldn't keep John away for long – he changed direction and moved to the infirmary.

He had done all he could for his sons' right now. The GDF were on the case and would be in touch when they had established a story making it plausible for the Tracys to have been there without incriminating them in the process.

Technically, he should rest the way he was pushing his sons to. But until he knew they were at peace, he couldn't.

He nodded at Brains as he entered, pulling a chair around to Scott's bedside. He would never forget the look on his son's face as he tried to deal with everything he was feeling. It was a far-cry from his confident Field Commander and Jeff wondered if, this time, Scott had been pushed too far.

Jeff had thought John and Gordon had been caught in the explosion. He'd believed Virgil wouldn't wake up. He'd feared they wouldn't find Scott in time. But each time, his doubts had been proven wrong.

Scott, however, had gone for much longer, alone, with those same fears, and there had been no phone call to alleviate the terror.

Jeff brushed Scott's hair back from his face, watching him. He looked calmer now and Jeff hoped he had slipped back into sleep rather than unconsciousness.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" he whispered, repeating what he had asked Virgil. Until Scott woke up properly, Jeff knew the rest of them wouldn't be able to find the peace they desperately needed.

* * *

Virgil made it to the infirmary.

He didn't know why he had bothered though.

Scott was awake, but every time they caught each other's eye, one of them quickly looked away. Virgil wanted to blame his brother but knew he was being as bad. Regardless of what his father had said, he couldn't bring himself to accept that he wasn't to blame. Seeing Scott struggling to sit up, vivid marks around his throat and his arm in a cast, starved, barely lucid and covered in injuries, wasn't exactly the best thing to ease his troubled thoughts.

What he didn't understand, however, was why Scott was looking as uncomfortable as Virgil felt. They had always been able to read each other and, even if he was avoiding looking at his brother, this was no different. He knew what was going through his brother's head, but for the life of him, Virgil didn't know how being kidnapped, tortured and deprived of sleep left room for guilt.

"Do you…" Virgil trailed off, clearing his throat. "Do you need anything?"

Scott shook his head, eyes closing in a wince as he did so. Virgil bit his lip. His brother had been awake, on and off, for a few hours. The others had come in when he first stirred, but their father had quickly taken control, making sure they didn't crowd him. He made a point of ensuring Virgil was there most of the time and if the look on John's face was anything to go by, he knew what their dad was doing and agreed with it.

Virgil didn't know what to do. He didn't want to leave. He had spent too long fighting to be back by his brother's side, willing Scott to hold on, to leave him now. Seeing him awake was far better for Virgil than being out of the room. But every time he saw Scott glance at the corners of the room, as if expecting something to be waiting to drag him back, it made Virgil's breath catch.

He didn't know what Blag had tormented his brother with, but he thought, if pushed, he could guess. He had replayed Scott's final words to the man over and over again and there was only one 'she' he could think of that they would be referring to. Anger – overwhelming fury – coursed through him at the idea of Blag even mentioning their mother, let alone using her memory against Scott. It was one thing he was adamant their father wouldn't find out about.

But it was more than that. Blag wouldn't have just used their mother – he would have used them all, the fact Scott had no idea if they were alive or dead, to hold over him. Anyone who met Scott for even a few minutes could figure out what – who – his weaknesses were.

Knowing that didn't ease Virgil's guilt. Scott would have had no reason to believe he had survived the crypt. Thinking Virgil was dead would have undermined Scott's attempts to survive. If his brother had stopped fighting because of him…

The door opening made them both jump. Gordon slipped in with an apologetic look.

"I'm just…" He gestured towards where Brains kept the painkillers and Virgil nodded. Gordon was taking the bare minimum and Virgil wasn't going to stop him. He looked at Scott, whose eyes had narrowed as he watched Gordon. Virgil knew they still hadn't told him what had happened, but figured it wouldn't be long before John cracked.

Gordon only took a few steps before he stopped. He stared. Virgil thought it was at Scott, then realised it was at both of them. An annoyed look flickered over his face and, for the first time since Scott had woken up, they traded concerned glances.

"Gords?" Virgil stood up, but Gordon backed off, shaking his head.

"Screw it," his brother muttered. "This is stupid."

He turned on his heel and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him. Virgil hurried after him but when he tried to push on the door, it only moved an inch. He stared, trying again and hearing a soft grunt.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Gordon's voice was muffled but Virgil knew he was sitting on the other side of the door. Virgil couldn't open it – nor would he attempt to force it knowing Gordon was injured and if he tried harder, he would only hurt his brother.

"Don't be an idiot," Virgil said. "Come and take something."

"No." There was a sullen note in Gordon's voice.

"Gordon-,"

"I'm not the one being an idiot," his brother continued. "I'm not moving until you two talk to each other."

"I know you're in pain, Gordon. Just take something."

"No."

Virgil groaned, resisting the urge to bang his head on the door. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Scott had sat up straighter, clearly intending to get up. If there was one thing Virgil knew, it was that his brother did not have the strength to be out of bed. He held out a hand.

"Stay there," he said, turning back to the door.

"Gords-,"

"No!" Gordon – if anything – was leaning further back on the door. "I didn't get you breathing again or take a bullet for the pair of you to be such asses you won't even speak to one another. You feel guilty, he feels guilty – deal with it!"

Virgil sighed, closing his eyes, before turning to face Scott.

"Is he okay?" Scott's voice was hoarse and Virgil knew days without sufficient liquid were still taking their toll. Virgil shook his head.

"He thinks we're being idiots."

"I don't just think it, I _know_ it!"

Virgil ignored Gordon and crossed back to the bed, sitting back in his chair. He knew Gordon – there was no way he was letting them out. Virgil might not have minded – he had been sitting here in awkward silence for an age as it was – but he knew Gordon was in pain and refusing to take any medication until they had spoken. Gordon _had_ saved his life; he owed it to his brother.

"He says we're both feeling guilty." Virgil spoke to his knees rather than Scott. "Which is stupid because-,"

Scott flinched. Virgil looked up, staring at him.

"You're not?"

Scott looked away.

"What the hell do you have to feel guilty about?!"

Scott finally looked him in the eye and held his gaze. Virgil forgot to breathe at the pain in his brother's expression – not just physical pain either.

"I chose," Scott muttered. He swallowed hard. "I chose and you died."

"For God's sake, I'm still alive! Why does no one focus on that part?"

Scott looked away. "I didn't think you were. There wasn't a reason for you to be. I didn't know they were coming. I didn't know they were alive. I picked Matt over you and you drowned because of it."

"I made you," Virgil said. "I made you pick Matt."

Scott shrugged. "You're my brother."

His gaze fell to Virgil's hands. Realising that the red marks around his wrists were visible, Virgil pulled down his sleeves, hiding them.

"You're my brother and I made a decision that cost you your life. After I promised…after I swore…"

He trailed off, biting his lip. Virgil wasn't certain he had ever seen Scott cry before – it had been one of the problems from their youth. But he turned his head, his free hand lifting to wipe tears away before Virgil could comment.

"You promised Mom?" Virgil said softly. This was Blag's fault: he had forced his brother into an impossible situation and then held it over him.

Scott couldn't hold his eye as he nodded. "It didn't matter what he did to me," he whispered, "as long as you were safe. But you weren't…because I chose."

"No." Virgil had no idea when he left the chair, but he was suddenly sitting on the bed, wanting to be closer to his brother.

"Blag chose. He twisted everything. It would have destroyed us if you had chosen me over Matt and you know it."

"But-,"

"No!" Virgil interrupted, his tone firm. "I got myself into that situation. I went out, knowing something was wrong. I got caught and because of it, you guys could have all been killed."

"This isn't-,"

"My fault?" Virgil suddenly sat back, exhaling sharply. Everything his father and brothers had been telling him suddenly seemed to make sense. He gave a hollow laugh. "Maybe not. But it's sure as hell not your fault either."

Scott looked at him, his eyes still swimming with tears, and Virgil did something he hadn't done for years. He pulled his brother into a hug and it only took a split-second before he felt Scott's good hand gripping the back of his shirt, holding on, reassuring himself that Virgil was still breathing.

"I'm okay," Virgil said, sitting back again. He caught his brother's eye. "We're okay."

For the first time since he had woken up, Scott's watery smile was genuine and he nodded. Then he cleared his throat and Virgil slipped back onto his seat, both suddenly self-conscious at what had just happened.

"How did they find you?" Scott asked and Virgil shrugged.

"I'm still not entirely sure," he admitted. "But it's something to do with John bugging you."

Silence fell between them again but it wasn't the uncomfortable silence of before. This time, Virgil didn't know what to say because he didn't know how he was feeling. The guilt had rested heavily on him ever since he had woken up at the hospital but, finally, he felt it begin to lift slightly. Knowing Scott blamed himself just as much didn't alleviate his own, but it made him realise there wasn't enough guilt to go around – they couldn't both feel it and hope to heal.

"He brought Mom into it, didn't he?" His voice was barely controlled and Scott didn't need to answer; his expression told him.

Virgil's hands clenched into fists. "That bastard…"

"He's dead." Scott sounded exhausted. "It doesn't matter anymore."

One glance was all Virgil needed to know that was as far from the truth as they could get. But he also knew his brother wasn't ready to talk about it yet and he put a hand on Scott's shoulder for a moment before activating his watch.

"You can come in now," he told Gordon. There was a pause before the door opened and Gordon appeared, looking at them carefully before entering the room. He once again took a few steps before stopping and rolling his eyes.

"Dunderheads," he told them. Virgil moved across to the supplies and tossed Gordon the pills. His brother caught them and popped the lid.

"Don't do that again," Virgil told him. The last thing he needed right now was to feel responsible for another brother's pain. Gordon smirked at him.

"Don't be an ass then," he said. He dry-swallowed a couple of tablets and moved closer to the bed. Scott looked at him and smiled and it was enough for Gordon to sit down. He might have struggled while Scott was unconscious, but now his brother was awake, Virgil knew he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. But Scott wouldn't remain awake much longer.

Virgil stepped towards the exit.

"Where are you going?" Gordon sounded confused and Virgil smiled at him.

"To get some sleep," he said, "before you use your favourite come-back."

The last thing he needed was for the others to remind Scott that he had actually died. But he also felt that, right now, he might actually be able to rest easier. He caught Scott's eye on the way out and his brother nodded at him. Virgil grinned.

It was going to be a while before Scott was okay – before either of them were okay. But for now, at least, they were back on the same page.


	29. Chapter 29

John slipped out of the room, satisfied neither Gordon nor Alan would notice. He had persuaded Alan to show Gordon his new computer game – knowing his brother could handle it one-handed and it would stop Gordon moping. He was coping with the pain well, but after a week of being denied the pool, he was getting agitated.

John looked towards his father's study. The door was open but he couldn't hear anything. For once, it appeared the man wasn't there.

It hadn't taken John long to get his laptop back from his dad, but it had cost him a promise to ease back on the coffee and attempt to sleep. Five minutes of staring at the ceiling, trying to empty his mind that night, counted as an attempt. He hoped his dad saw it the same way.

He took a step in that direction, then stopped. He wanted to know what was going on, but if anything had changed, his dad would have told him. He knew full well what he was doing: Virgil wasn't the only one who had avoided the infirmary. So far, no one had noticed, but John wasn't going to push his luck, not after hearing what had happened between Gordon, Virgil and Scott. He wanted to do this on his own terms.

Now was a good a time as any. Forcing himself towards the infirmary, he paused outside the door, gritted his teeth then pushed it open and froze. Virgil was still in the room, his upper body cushioned across Scott's bed. John winced; his brother was going to be sore when he woke up. But his breathing was even and he looked relaxed for the first time in days. He wasn't the only one - Scott's eyes were also shut.

There was a screen next to the bed and John knew they had been on a vid-call with Matt for most of the morning. John still didn't know what had happened in that crypt – he wouldn't ask – but knew they'd needed to speak to Matt as much as they did each other. John himself had spoken to the officer only a couple times since they had returned home but was pleased he had made a full recovery. Matt had promised to fly out, but Nicole's due date was getting closer and he wouldn't leave his wife, nor would they ask him to.

John glanced at the screen, but it was blank. He wanted to talk to Matt properly himself, wanted to thank him for once again trying to save his brothers. He had barely seen their agent since this began and had been understandably distracted when they did speak. But Matt had been the one to help him hold it together after the first time and John had a feeling the man would be able to do it again now; despite the fact they were all adults now. He _did_ want to make sure Matt was truly okay – but he also had selfish reasons for wanting to talk.

John looked back at the bed and smiled. Scott's hand was still resting on top of Virgil's head and he knew his big brother had been combing his fingers through Virgil's hair – probably without realising he was doing it. Seeing them together like this helped ease his own tension and John felt a little lighter. He turned to go.

"I'm awake."

The quiet voice called him back and he saw Scott's eyes open. John moved further into the room, his gaze locked on Virgil.

"He's going to feel that."

"I know," Scott muttered, "but what can I do?"

There was a bitter note in his voice. With one arm in a cast, the other attached to an IV line and a complete lack of strength, getting Virgil to sleep was as far as Scott could go. Moving him was impossible.

John stepped up to the bed. He slipped an arm around Virgil's chest and gently – pausing when Virgil snuffled – eased him up until he was resting back in the chair. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than before. Grabbing a spare blanket, he threw it over him. The last thing they needed was for Virgil to catch a chill, not after everything else.

"How close was it?" Scott murmured, his gaze locked on their brother.

John looked between them. If Scott didn't know, it was because Virgil hadn't told him. He couldn't break Virgil's trust… But neither could he forget how it had felt, sitting in the middle of nowhere, his brother's unconscious body in his arms, his own cry that Virgil wasn't breathing…

Scott swore. John suddenly realised his expression had given him away. He sighed, pulling another chair around and sitting down.

"Gords has quick reactions," he said, his tone flat. He swallowed hard; even the shadow of that fear, that panic, was enough to steal his breath.

Scott nodded. "Like getting between you and a bullet?"

"How did you-,"

"I can read between the lines."

John should have guessed. They all assumed Scott had been too out of it to be paying attention over the last few days. But he should have known better: Scott would have focused on them as a way of avoiding thinking about himself. He still looked awful: the injuries from the various beatings were only just starting to heal, the bruising more vivid than before. The previous red marks around his neck were turning purple and there were still dark hollows under his eyes.

"I froze," John said, self-loathing in his voice. If he had just realised that man was there before emptying his clip trying to stop someone else…

"So did I," Scott said softly. John looked at him. His brother was watching Virgil. "I saw them take him and I froze. If I'd just moved faster…"

He trailed off. His hand was clenched and John winced, knowing it would be making the needle uncomfortable.

"He would have found another way," John muttered. "He's always been one step ahead."

"Not always." Scott's attention turned from Virgil to him and John tried not to squirm at the look he was being given. "You tracked it, didn't you?"

John knew Scott wasn't referring to following him to Kansas. He closed his eyes. He could still hear Virgil's accusation that they had been sitting there doing nothing while waiting for him to regain consciousness.

But the images were burnt into his mind's eye and he couldn't escape them.

 _His brother, hands pulled above his head, gagged, bleeding, fury and despair in perfect balance in his eyes. Blag's calm voice as he voiced his demands for the oldest son of the legendary Jeff Tracy…_

John shuddered. "He wasn't going to let you go, was he?"

Scott shook his head. "He wanted to know how much money they would of-,"

"You weren't fighting," John interrupted.

He didn't realise how much it had been playing on his mind until he said it. Scott had looked furious, but he hadn't been struggling. His gaze was drawn to a cut above Scott's eyebrow – one that had been bleeding freely when he saw the transmission. Scott shook his head.

"No."

"Why?"

"I thought you guys were dead," he murmured. "I saw the speed of that water and knew there was no chance for Virg. I didn't care about escaping. I just wanted to take him down."

John couldn't breathe past the lump in his chest, a grip squeezing so tight it hurt.

"Scott-,"

"I knew Brains would be searching. I wanted Dad to finish it if I couldn't. I had to let him send the transmission. And I failed. I never wanted…"

He trailed off but John knew what he was going to say. He had never intended for a younger brother to see him in that position. An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Scott cleared his throat.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For bugging me. For saving Virgil. For tracking me down, _again_. You saved my life, Johnny."

"We tried to leave Virg behind," he admitted. He hadn't properly spoken to anyone since this had begun. His father had got a little from him, but that hadn't been who John needed. He had been there for Gordon, then for Virgil - even if Scott would have done a better job. But there had been no big brother for him to turn to and he wondered, not for the first time, how Scott did it.

"He played us all, even Dad."

"He would," Scott said, casting a fond look at Virgil. John shook his head.

"He wouldn't have fooled you."

"Where are you going with this?"

John opened his mouth, then shut it. He wanted to make up an excuse, but his mind wasn't working fast enough. He settled on the truth.

"I missed you," he whispered. "I thought I was too late."

"No." Scott's voice was firmer than John had heard it yet. "You saved me. You all did. You're not alone anymore, kid."

John didn't know he needed to hear the nickname until Scott said it. He sniffed, straightened up and wrestled his emotions back under control again. He even managed a smile.

"It's good to hear you sounding like yourself," he said. He stood up. "I should let you rest."

"John-,"

"I need to show Dad something," he said. Scott frowned at his tone but didn't protest, clearly understanding this was important. He nodded. John put a hand on Scott's shoulder.

"Welcome back," he said, before moving out of the infirmary. He didn't go straight to his father's office though. He went to his room, picking up his tablet before returning to the office.

This time, there was movement from within and John entered when his father bid him.

"How's it going?" John asked. His dad ran a hand over his face, looking as exhausted as John felt.

"The GDF have persuaded the Russian authorities they were there. They said we received a ransom, giving a location and instructions not to tell anyone. We informed them – trusting their discretion, but not the police, understandable given what happened with the KPD. They told us to stay behind but we followed, arriving after them because we only have a normal plane and can't reach their speeds."

John snorted. He hoped no one told Brains that – their resident genius would give the game away if he thought someone was underestimating one of his designs.

"They're buying it?"

"I don't know." His father sat back in his seat. "They don't really have a reason not to but we're missing details. They want to know how we received the ransom note."

The frustration and annoyance were obvious. His dad was used to being in control, dictating who got to ask what. It had been a long time since someone had grilled Jeff Tracy.

"I can help with that," John said quietly. He tapped a few buttons and put the tablet on the desk. His father leant forward, frowning at the numbers scrolling across the screen.

"What am I looking at?"

"Code," John said, unhelpfully. He continued at the look his father gave him. "I wrote it. It-," he paused, taking a deep breath, "it tracked the message Blag sent. It's how I found Scott."

"But you said you didn't know where it was originating from until we were airborne."

"I didn't. He also didn't mention a location on it."

"How does this help us?"

"We fake a message," John said, his voice calm despite his racing his heart. "I can use this to ensure it looks like the message originated from the same place, the same source. Average person won't be able to track it, but the authorities will have experts. They'll find a way of tracking it - and the original message - and it will look like they'll come from the same place."

"Are you sure?"

John nodded. "Just don't ask me to write the message," he said, shuddering.

He had been thinking about it for a while, but knew his coding was the best. No one would realise it was a fake trail. He also believed no one would look that closely. Blag's original transmission confirmed his guilt and the maniac could no longer defend himself. The authorities wanted to tidy up everything neatly, and this would do just that.

He looked up and saw his father was frowning.

"What is it?"

His father shook his head. "Nothing. I just never thought I'd be using my influence to deliberately mislead the authorities."

"We do it all the time with IR."

"This is different," his dad said. "This is personal."

John didn't know what to say. He didn't know how else they were going to get away with it – and from what he understood, the GDF had come up with the idea in the first place.

"Do you regret it?" John asked.

His father looked at him, a fierce expression on his face.

"Never. I will do whatever it takes to keep you boys safe."

"I know," John said, smiling. Any doubts he might have had as a young child about whether their father loved them or not had been put to rest a long time ago. He knew nothing would stop his dad if he had a plan that would keep them safe.

"Go and get something to eat," his father ordered, reaching for the phone. "I've got some calls to make."

John obeyed. As he moved towards the kitchen, he couldn't help but wonder whether, with this phone call, they might finally be able to look to the future rather than worrying about the past.

TBTBTB

Gordon held his breath, easing himself off the bed. It was tricky one-handed, but it had taken him long enough to get Alan to sleep – he wasn't about to wake him up now. The kid had refused to go to bed, until Gordon had quietly offered to stay. Alan had been adamant that he wasn't going to sleep, but it didn't take long for him to give in once he knew Gordon was there.

Now he was asleep though, Gordon knew he wouldn't stir. He tiptoed across the room and left, pulling the door shut behind him. The hall light was on and it took a moment for his vision to adjust. He stretched, then cursed as it jolted his shoulder, cradling his elbow to try and alleviate the pressure. The sling was making his neck hurt but he had already tried to take it off once and John had caught him. He hadn't tried again.

Checking the time, Gordon realised he could take something for it. He hated doing it; he'd rather ride it out than give in. But at this time, it was the only way he would get any sleep. He wasn't certain if he took the pills for the pain, or because they made him lethargic and helped him rest.

Virgil's door was closed as he walked past and Gordon smiled. If he thought it was hard getting Alan to sleep, it was nothing compared to getting Virgil to agree to stay in his own room. It had taken both his father and John – and then Scott when he realised what was going on – to persuade Virgil to leave the infirmary. Gordon hadn't considered what the effect would be when he had forced his brothers to talk to one another.

Heading downstairs, he made a detour into the kitchen, scowling when he saw the beer bottle on the side. He had seen John with it earlier and was jealous – he wanted a drink more than he wanted tablets, but the rest of the family had refused. Tossing it in the recycling, he fixed himself a hot chocolate, not in the mood to ask his grandmother to do it for him, and headed towards the infirmary.

Nudging the door open with his hip, he slipped in, placing his drink on the side and moving to the cabinet. It was only after he had swallowed the tablets that he looked at the bed. Scott was awake, his knees drawn up to his chest, watching him.

Gordon smiled, picked up his drink and moved towards the doors. Scott cleared his throat meaningfully and he froze, turning back with a wince.

"Yeah?"

"Sit."

It was all Scott needed to say and Gordon slipped into the vacant chair by the bed.

"What's up?" he said innocently.

Scott raised an eyebrow and he changed tack.

"You're supposed to be asleep," he muttered. "I thought it was getting easier?"

"It is," Scott admitted, unable to hold his gaze. "But not when there is something else going on."

Gordon knew his brother was referring to Virgil and the battle to get him to leave. He grimaced, still feeling the chill of horror when he realised what Blag had put Scott through psychologically by not letting him rest. It was something he had heard in WASP – stories that happened to other people. Not something that happened to his own brother.

"I wanted to talk to you," Scott continued. He nodded towards the sling. "What happened? John won't tell me. Not properly."

Gordon had learnt by now that shrugging was a bad idea. He had mastered a one-shoulder shrug that did the job just as well, though.

"Just returning the favour."

"You could have been killed."

"Don't you start," Gordon complained. He had already spoken about this with John more than once since they arrived back on the island. He had no idea how to stop his brother from feeling guilty – which seemed ironic when he thought of what he had done to get Scott and Virgil to admit what was going through their minds.

He looked at Scott, looked away and when he glanced back, Scott was still watching him with a knowing expression.

"What?"

"You know what."

"It's fine-,"

"Gords."

It was his name, murmured as a soft plea, that made Gordon crack.

"He shouldn't have got past me!" His voice rose to a shout, catching him by surprise even if Scott didn't flinch. He didn't realise the frustration wasn't focused at their entire situation, but at himself.

"I didn't watch my back; didn't watch _John's_ back. I nearly got him killed."

"You didn't: the men shooting at you nearly killed the pair of you."

Gordon shook his head. "I told him I'd take the lead. I was the best in my squad, Scott." He wasn't boasting – it was a fact. He had often led missions because he had a lucky track record that meant he never lost a man. He'd nearly broken that record by getting his own brother killed. "I should have had him covered."

"Why didn't you?" There was nothing accusing in Scott's voice, only curiosity. Gordon shook his head.

"I was out of ammo."

Scott laughed. It made him go pale and put his good hand to his ribs, but he still laughed. Gordon stared at him.

"It's not funny!"

"Gords, you cleared the entire place, with John probably getting a few lucky shots at most. You really don't see how many times you had him covered?"

It made sense. Gordon didn't want it to, but it did. He knew there was nothing they could have done differently but he didn't want to accept that he hadn't screwed up and put John in danger. He sighed, sagging in his seat and running a hand through his hair.

"They were trained, weren't they?" he muttered. He thought the men had been hired thugs, and they probably were. But they were thugs who knew what they were doing.

Scott nodded, momentarily closing his eyes as he did so. Gordon regretted saying it: no doubt his brother had found out just had efficient they were at doing their jobs. The marks across his entire body were testimony to that.

"Scott, I…" Gordon trailed off, chewing his lip. This time, Scott waited him out, knowing he would eventually say what was on his mind.

"I saw them take you," he blurted out. "I saw them through the smoke but there was nothing I could do. There was this beam…I was trapped…but I should have done something. Called out, anything."

"They would have killed you, Gords," Scott said softly. "It didn't matter if you and John survived the hangar. If they knew you were alive, especially conscious, they would have killed you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It led you guys to Virg. How did you get there in time? I didn't see you."

Realising the easiest way to get Scott to stop dragging unwelcome truths to the surface, Gordon started filling his brother in on some of the blanks: their mad dash across the state, stealing the plane, reaching the house and hearing the water…

"John said you saved him."

Gordon smiled tightly. "Only because he was stubborn enough not to give up. We saw the helicopter. John told me you'd be kicking their asses for trying to shoot us."

Scott looked away but Gordon didn't say anything else. He already realised that Scott wouldn't have been conscious – Blag wouldn't have got him away from Virgil otherwise.

Silence fell again and Gordon – for the first time he could remember – didn't know what to say. He was used to breaking the tension, easing the mood, but events were playing too heavily on his mind and he couldn't make light of any of it. He stared glumly at Scott's bed, not able to even look at his brother.

Scott stretched out with a groan, wincing as he did so. He tried to hide it when Gordon looked up, but Gordon had spent so long dealing with his own body rebelling against him that nothing fooled him. He still didn't know what to say and instead put a hand on Scott's leg, not knowing where else wouldn't hurt his brother.

"I know you've spoken to Virgil and John," he said, "but promise me something?"

"What?"

"Talk to Dad."

"About what?"

Gordon lifted an eyebrow. There was a reason why John had looked as if a weight had been lifted from him when he finally spoke to Scott, why Virgil didn't want to leave their brother's side and why Alan had gone to sleep, knowing Gordon was there. They all looked to an older member of the family to let down their defences and truly say what was on their mind.

Scott wouldn't admit what had happened to him in that place; the evidence was all over his body, but he wouldn't say it, not to a younger sibling. But Gordon had memories – however faint – of before. He knew the devastating effects of keeping things bottled up and knew Scott was the worst of them all for doing it.

"I thought John was supposed to be the smart one," Scott muttered, avoiding his gaze. Gordon knew he didn't mean anything offensive by it. He grinned.

"I have my moments," he said, standing up. He stretched, regretted it and let his hand hover over the wound, not touching but wanting to do something. Scott was watching him knowingly.

"Guess we're both banned from the pool?" he said. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Don't remind me." He drained the rest of his drink and pulled a face. "I'm going to find Grandma."

Scott nodded. Gordon felt bad about leaving him, but he couldn't stay in the infirmary all night. As he left, however, his father passed him and Gordon knew Scott wouldn't be alone for long.

He made it back to the kitchen, but didn't go any further. He looked at his cup, his thoughts completely blank. He didn't know what he was thinking; didn't know what he was feeling.

He put the mug down, opening the fridge and pulling out the milk. Putting it on the top, he tried to get the lid off. But he couldn't get a grip, couldn't do it this time with just one hand. Wedging it under his arm, Gordon twisted the lid again but the whole thing spun out of his grip, flying off the top and hitting the floor. The lid burst off, sending milk gushing over the floor.

"Damnit!"

He turned, his elbow catching the mug as he did so. Without a free hand, he couldn't grab it in time and instead watched, frustrated and annoyed, as it too hit the floor, shattering.

"For god's sake!"

"Gordon?"

The soft voice stopped his tirade before he could even start and he turned, faking a smile as his grandmother walked in.

"Could do with a hand," he said, aiming for light-hearted even as he nodded towards his shoulder. She came closer, taking him by the good hand and drawing him away from the mess. He went without protest as she sat him down at the table and bustled around. Resting his elbow on the table, he dropped his head into his hand, closing his eyes. He was tired, sore and the only thing he truly wanted was a long swim to burn away the frustration.

"Here." She was back before he knew it and he looked up as a fresh drink was placed before him. She took his hand, holding it between her own and giving him no hiding place.

"You were never one to cry over spilt milk," she murmured gently. "So how about you tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"

There was such empathy and compassion in her voice that Gordon's defences fell away. He couldn't speak in sentences. Couldn't coherently form words that did justice to how he was feeling. But, slowly, surely, he stumbled through his emotions, finally accepting that - as much as he wanted to deny it - he had spent the last few weeks terrified.

By finally voicing what he hadn't even realised he was feeling, Gordon felt his own weight lift from him. When the words eventually came to a halt, his grandmother reached up, cupping his face and smiling gently at him.

"Better?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice. But she was right. He felt better than he had done for nearly a month.


End file.
